Cue the Pulse: The Ghost Network II

EXTREME VIOLENCE. Reader discretion advised.  This story is not for everyone. Please do not ignore this warning and then complain in the comments section.

This is a direct sequel to 'The Ghost Network' (the backstory of which is summed up in the first few paragraphs, so you don't necessarily have to have read the first part, but if you'd like to the link is here).

INTRODUCTION: The Comfortable Canadian

It had been nearly three years since Mark York a Canadian college athlete who had gone missing for two weeks turned up - quite inexplicitly - resting soundly in a Four Seasons hotel thousands of miles away in the United States.

The media sensationalized the tale, nicknaming him the 'Comfortable Canadian' on account of the luxurious accommodations of the hotel he had been found in, though the moniker was misleading. He had been sexually assaulted and mutilated, though the public was spared the full details of the abuse.

Few believed such a heinous torture session could have occurred in the first place, let alone been broadcast live on the web without so much as a shred of evidence. The video feed had been brazenly routed through the secure servers of some of America's largest corporations and even the FBI as if the assailant was taunting the authorities. Not even the posh hotel's internet-enabled security cameras could explain how the unconscious rugby player had managed up to the hotel's tenth floor. The whole affair read like a 'hacker' movie wherein a brilliant computer wizard covered and scrambled his electronic tracks completely.

It was the first time most of the world outside of seedy backwater websites and urban legend mongering bulletin boards had ever heard of The Ghost, a shadowy figure who tortured and mutilated young men live on the web to anonymous, equally difficult to track viewers.

And it was the first time INTERPOL had ever found one of his alleged victims alive. But even that seemed to just be Ghost playing with them. Years of debriefing Mark had yielded no useful information in helping to uncover The Ghost. Authorities couldn't even be certain if the Comfortable Canadian had actually been in the United States at all while he was being tortured, or if the digital clues indicating that were just red hearings. The world was intrigued... but with no evidence of any new Ghost victims and the authorities being tight-lipped, the media's attention waned and fell onto the next celebrity of the moment….

…

At exactly ten minutes after midnight, Greenwich Mean Time, four years to the day after Mark had been found castrated but otherwise healed, an encrypted email linking to a web video feed was broadcast around the globe. Within minutes, dozens of businessmen, house wives, students, scientists, government officials, celebrities and religious leaders scattered in fifteen counties were logging into their computers. It was a message, at long last, from Ghost. A show was starting...

Jacque rolled his head, his mind incredibly groggy as if he had been a sleep for a long time. The last he could remember he had been riding his bike home from a bistro on the outskirts of Paris. It had been a little after sunset, but the streets were still relatively abuzz. There was a blue van, like a delivery truck, that had just barely managed to wedge into one of the city's centuries old alley ways. He vaguely remembered thinking "How is he going to get out of there without hitting his mirrors,"... then that was all. He couldn't remember anything beyond that, and even those last few memories of that twilight evening in Paris were fluid and fleeting, as if he was trying to remember a dream that was quickly fading.

His head was pounding and his eyes were struggling to accommodate to the near-total darkness around him. There appeared to be only a few light sources, and those were faint almost like the indicator lights on machines. He shook his head as if trying to shake the groggy feeling. He was standing up, his bare feet standing on something rubbery,, and had been slouched over something hard and metal, like a bar, though he couldn’t tell what it was in the darkness. He felt quite cold, and realized that he was naked. But why? As he gained his bearings, he began feeling around for anything familiar, but all he could feel was the metal bar in front of him. He still couldn’t see enough to move and was afraid to wander without knowing what was going on.

"Hello?" he called out hesitantly, the sound of his own voice booming in his head.

There was no answer.

Just then he felt something tickling his nose. He reached and felt he had grown at least two or three days’ worth of facial hair. What was going on? Suddenly, Jacque heard a faint groaning coming from the distance, somewhere behind him. He turned his head to look but could only make out more darkness.

"Hello?" He called again.

A deep voice that sounded heavy with sleep called out something in a language Jacque didn't recognize. The voice seemed to be only a few feet away, but Jacques couldn't see anything that far out. It sounded Russian, but he couldn't be for certain. He tried calling out to the voice in his native French, then English and finally German but the man didn't seem to be able to understand him. It was as frustrating as it was frightening.

Finally Jacque got the resolve to step away from the relative familiarity of the metal bar into the unknown darkness.

"I'm coming toward you, okay?" he called out in each language, and then turned to walk away.

"Ow!" he howled as soon as he attempted to take a step. His head was still cloudy but there was an unmistakable, sharp pain in his testicles when he had tried to move.

Confused, he attempted to step backward again but again felt a tugging on his balls. In a panic, he froze to his spot, hesitantly running his hands down to this nut sack. He could feel that he had been shaved clean. He also felt a rope or chord tied tightly around the base of his balls. The noose was quite tight, but not painful. He ran his hand along the chord, and could feel that it extended forward and was attached to a vertical metal bar just barely within arm's reach ahead of him. As he approached the bar, the chord's slack loosened, as he attempted to move away, it tightened until the noose started to become quite painful. He was surprised at how quickly the pain increased. He took a step backward and the noose transitioned from simply being 'too tight' to a painful tugging on his balls. He shuddered to think what would happen if he kept moving away.

He had just figured out the bizarre trap he was in when he heard the unseen man in the distance shout out. Although Jacque didn't recognize the man's language, the under lying appeal for help was universal.

"I can't get to you," Jacques replied back helplessly, this time throwing in what little Russian he could remember from school.

The man seemed to understand him and Jacques sighed in relief. At least something was starting to come together...

"Rise and shine!" suddenly boomed a slightly high pitched male voice that seemed to be coming from nowhere but everywhere at once. The voice was speaking in perfect German.

"So you're finally awake," came the voice again, this time in French.

Jacques strained his eyes, desperate to see anything in the darkness. He thought he had just caught a glimpse of a tall figure approaching when suddenly the entire area was bathed in an obnoxious, glaring white light. Jacques instantly covered his eyes as the voice continued, this time in English "I couldn't tell from your earlier attempt to talk to our friend here which language you prefer. If you don't mind, I'll be staying with English. It's my audience’s language of choice," the man chuckled.

Jacques eyes were slowing adjusting to the bright lights, and he lowered his hands. He could see he was in a relatively small, white walled room. He looked up to see the entire vaulted ceiling was lighted end to end with florescent tubes. The walls were pristine with no apparent openings, windows or doors. He looked about himself and could see that the bar he had been slouched on was the control panel of a treadmill and the chord leading from his balls was anchored to the support mast that was holding the treadmill's instrument panel up. That would explain the strange 'rubber' texture under his feet. The length of the treadmill seemed longer than usual, but it was hard for Jacque to tell in his still groggy state.

He turned in the direction of the voice and saw a man who looked to be in his mid-thirties standing against a pole, his arms and legs tied so tightly behind his back he could barely move. He was only four or five feet away, so Jacque could clearly make out the man's appearance. He as relatively tall, well over six feet, with thick brown disheveled hair that framed his round, craggy face, a sharp jaw line and small, dark eyes making him look menacing even though his face was contorted in pain. He was wearing a black policeman's cap, the markings of which made it apparent to Jacques that he was indeed Russian. A dirty, ripped light blue button up shirt with what Jacques presumed was the Russian word for 'POLICE' printed across the right breast hugged the man's well developed upper body. His biceps were quite large, almost too big for the shirt's short sleeves. The man wasn't gagged, but seemed too terrified to speak, instead only looking at Jacque pleadingly.

The Russian officer was wearing his traditional black boots, but his pants were totally missing, revealing a pair of thick, muscular legs. Jacques, despite the situation, found himself getting aroused at the truly massive, shaved testicles swinging several inches below the man's legs. They were egg shaped, but larger than eggs and the scrotum skin was a bit darker than the rest of his otherwise pale skin. The officer's genitals truly looked like they belonged on an animal, not a human, they were so large. The Russian was a broad muscular, powerfully built man but even his large frame didn’t seem big enough to make his testicles look proportionate. A thick, flaccid penis hung over them, snaking down only a few inches, though Jacques was sure it probably got much, much larger with the right stimulation. This was one good looking police officer.

Jacques turned his attention to the mysterious man who seemed to be in control of this strange setup. He was tall, with a medium frame and was dressed entirely in black, including slick black leather gloves. His face was obscured by a ghastly pale white mask, like a 'gray alien' from the movies.

Behind the man, Jacques could see two cameras setup, their red recording lights blinking. These were the faint lights he had seen earlier. One seemed to be directed at him and the other at the Russian policeman. They were connected with cables to an old-looking desktop computer on a rolling cart. The computer's lone monitor was all black, except for four columns of what appeared to be I.P addresses in a blocky font.

The man in the alien mask approached Jacques and was just feet away when he pivoted on one foot toward the cameras and began to speak.

"Welcome back everyone, I know it has been a while! It is I, Ghost, to amuse and confuse, to delight and excite..."

Jacques tuned out the rest of the man's rather ridiculous sounding introduction. To hear him talk he was introducing a circus act, not setting the stage for two men who were clearly being held against their will in vulnerable positions. Jacques remembered the news coverage of 'The Ghost' and at the mention of the name was filled with both profound terror and disbelief. He knew from the start he was in trouble, but couldn't even wrap his mind around the fact that here he was, a lowly delivery boy from Paris, caught up in the clutches of a psychopath literally out of the movies. The realization was too grave and Jacques put his face in hands and started sobbing. Ghost interrupted his introduction and turned toward Jacque.

"Aww, it looks like someone doesn’t want to play."

Ghost closed the gap between himself and Jacques until he was so close Jacques could smell Ghost's peppermint gum.

Jacques stopped sobbing and tried to show resolve, though he refused to look at the hideous mask, instead shifting his eyes straight down at the instrument panel of the treadmill.

"What did I tell you? Isn't he a perfect specimen?" Ghost said alluding to Jacques’s body, stepping briefly out of the way presumably to give the camera a better view.

Jacques had just turned twenty-five, though his dark mustache and goatee that had filled in since his abduction aged his boyish face, which was framed by his long thick black hair. His tall, slender frame was just starting to fill out, his muscles well defined. His body fat was so low it made what would have otherwise been an unimpressive set of abdominal muscles look particularly defined as they rippled against the skin. Jacques's legs, however, were very well developed and muscular, almost out of proportion to his twink upper body. Between them swung two modest-sized, now shaved, balls that hung quite low on hot days and a thick, veiny cock that shocked his sex partners with its pornographic length. Now, however, it was shriveled from fear. Handsome Jacques was an attractive amalgam; the boyishness of a twink with the muscular definition of a jock.

"Now, now. Don't be sad. Everyone's excited to see you play..." Ghost made his way over to the Russian.

"Wave to the camera, my sweet Frenchman."

Jacques stood frozen, his arms on at his sides.

"I said wave!" Ghost shouted, his voice boiling with anger.

The Russian let out a blood curding scream and his begging was discernible as such to Jacques even though he didn't understand the words. Jacques turned to see Ghost had grabbed both of giant Russian balls, one per hand, and was viciously squeezing.

"Wave!" he barked again as he gave the Russian's left testicle a hard twist.

Jacque continued to stay frozen in terror. The Russian's screaming was now a disheartening drone.

"Wave!"

Jacques slowly rose his arm and waved meekly at the camera. The Russian signed in pained relief as Ghost release his balls and walked back toward Jacque.

"See, you're going to be in charge of torturing our policeman friend,"

Jacques looked at Ghost in bewilderment. What did he mean?

Without a word, Ghost made his way to the rolling cart and grabbed a small crate full of jangling metal objects. He nodded at Jacques as he walked passed him on his way to the Russian. He set down the crate and began pulling out all manner of equipment. Jacques turned to watch as Ghost erected a strange contraption on the ground directly below the Russian's massive swinging testicles. The Russian was breathing heavily, pleading to be let go. "I won't tell," he pieced together in broken English.

Ghost just laughed and continued setting up the contraption. When he was finished a few minutes later two metal bars rose from a heavy metal base up to the height of the man's nuts. At the top of each pole were two flat black metal plates that were opened with some sort of hinge. Ghost had positioned it so that each huge nut was sandwiched between two plates which were just barely touching the overflowing sack.

"Oh my God! Are those vices?" Jacques screamed in shocked disbelief.

"Correct," Ghost replied chillingly as he ran a cable away from the base of the double vice to the treadmill. By now both Jacques and the Russian were pleading and crying, the large Russian security officer attempting to break free but held tightly to the pole. Ghost pulled what appeared to be a large white piece of tape with a wire attached.

"This, boys and soon to be girls, is a heart rate monitor," he carefully attached the adhesive sensor to Jacques’s chest, right above his heart.

Finally, Ghost attached the chord leading to the heart rate sensor to the cable he had bought over from the double vice. Jacques became quiet, desperate to catch any clues that might help him escape.

"Now comes the fun part," came Ghost's voice, filled with genuine happiness.

"When I activate the connection between the sensor on your heart and the vices on our friend’s over stuffed sack something very fun is going to happen."

Jacques cocked his head at a peculiar angle and turned to speak directly to Jacque, ignoring the cameras for a moment, the ethereal black eyes of the alien mask peering into Jacque's eyes. Ghost's voice dropped to just above a whisper so that only Jacque could hear.

"You see, the vices will close one after another based on how fast your heart beats. As it beats faster, the first vice will close more, and more, and more until splish! There goes one policeman nut. And if you keep pumping blood too fast the next vice will close further and further until... well you get the point. Oh, and if you get smart and remove the sensor they'll both close shut instantly." Ghost finished clapping his hands together as a visual for what would happen to the Russian man's balls.

"But to be fair, we'll only go on for..." Ghost turned toward the computer monitor where a prominent countdown had appeared.

"We'll only get to go about thirty minutes,"

Jacques shook his head, overwhelmed by incredulity.

"I won't do it. I won't hurt him."

"Oh? Well I figured you'd say that,"

Ghost pulled a small remote out of his pocket and pressed a button. The tread beneath Jacques’s feet began to move slowly and he instinctively started walking to keep pace.

"See, this treadmill is going to go faster and faster. and if you don't keep up, this chord is going to get very, very tight."

Ghost paused and tugged on the chord that was connecting Jacque's sack to the frame.

"And you can just imagine what would happen if you, say, stopped keeping up and fell off the back. Riiiiip!" Ghost laughed maniacally and turned back toward the camera.

"Okay, audience at home. Are you ready to play? Our Russian friend already knows the rules, the same as our last treadmill session. We only have a short time to play, damn police." Ghost turned toward the Russian, no doubt giving a cocky smile of self-satisfaction under his mask.

He pressed another button on his remote and a mechanical clunking came from the base of the vice towers. The vice around the Russian's enormous right ball closed slightly, activated by Jacque's standing heart rate, and stopped just as it had barely compressed the ball meat. The Russian hollered more from sheer terror than pain.

Jacques kept up a walking pace, closing his eyes and pretending he was merely walking down a city boulevard. He was trying to stay calm lest his heart rate increase and he indirectly castrate the poor policeman.

The treadmill became slightly faster and Jacques panicked for a moment.

"Aaah!" the Russian man screamed. The burst of adrenaline must have caused Jacque's heart to beat faster and the plates surrounding the doomed right nut compressed further...

Stay calm. Stay calm. Just walk for a half hour... Jacques kept telling himself.

The machine lurched into a higher gear and suddenly Jacques was finding a casual walking pace wasn't fast enough to stop him from being moved away from the front of the machine. The chord attached to his balls got taught and he winced in pain. The Russian let out a wail as the plates compressed another half inch.

Jacque had just settled into a slow jog when the machine again increased in speed. He was being carried further from the front of the machine and the chord was now painfully tugging his balls nearly four inches from his body. It was unbearable, but he was still unwilling to increase his pace and make his heart beat faster. The Russian was already sobbing hysterically as the plate around his bloated right nut compressed the organ cruelly just at the relatively slight increase in his heart rate. The enormous Russian nut was now compressed to half its normal thickness and was turning red, the veins along the right of his sack bulging.

Wrrrr... The treadmill's pace increased yet again and Jacques let out a howl of pain. His nuts were now stretched further than he had ever seen them and he could feel the chords connecting his testicles to his body being strained as the defenseless orbs bulged obscenely at the furthest point of the sack. If he allowed himself to drift much further down the treadmill belt, it felt like his balls were going to burst out of their sack...

He increased his pace slightly, just enough to loosen the tug on his nuts, his mind was starting to fill with fear.

"AAAAAAAAAAH!" the Russian erupted in pain as his head thrashed violently.

His right nut was getting crushed. The nutmeat bulged grossly against the stretched scrotum skin. Jacques couldn't believe such an enormous ball had been so totally flattened...

"OOOOOOO! Please!" The Russian screamed, pleading in mispronounced English.

The treadmill had lurched into a higher gear and Jacques was now in a moderate run just to maintain the painful distance he was keeping. He knew his well-developed legs could have picked up the pace, sparing him further pain. But as the beads of sweat already forming on his forehead suggested, he was really starting to be worked out as it was and he could feel his heart starting to pound.

"Oh this is getting good, boys and girls," Ghost commented as he stood in front of the Russian, mindful to stand slightly aside to avoid blocking the camera.

From his front row seat, Ghost watched as the plates slowly closed tighter and tighter around the swelling and flattening organ. The sack was bulging obscenely as the nut was flattened and pushed to its absolute limit. The once huge gonad was now compressed to a meaty patty barely a quarter inch thick... and it was still compressing.

Ghost pushed a button on his remote and the treadmill got even faster. The Russian howled as Jacques was forced to increase his speed to a moderate run, but even at that his sack was being horribly stretched. Jacques knew he wasn't going to last much longer so he began sprinting in place. Despite the pleas of the Russian, his legs effortlessly caught up to the speed of the machine and the tension on his balls rapidly lessened as he moved toward the front of the machine. His heart rate quickened.

"Oh yeah, save your own balls by bursting his," Ghost said mockingly. Jacques shuddered. He was truly sorry, but he just couldn't bare the pain as his own testicles were about to be ripped from his body.

SQUICK! The right side of the Russian's sack burst open in multiple places as the plates continued to compress. He let out a howl of pain just as the treadmill increased in speed, forcing Jacque to run even harder. The plates now closed faster, quickly closing the small gap between them.

“OOOOOOOH!" the Russian howled.

SQUISH! SPLOSH! The plates mercilessly flattened the now ruptured ball meat. The squished innards landed with sickening, wet splats on the ground as the closing plates forced the crushed ball guts out of the tears in the sack. The Russian's head was thrashing so violently it seemed like his neck was going to break as he looked down in horror at his emasculation. Jacques tried to ignore the inhuman shrieks and the wet, sploshing sounds that were obviously the once huge nut being pulped to goo. Meanwhile the treadmill was now going so fast that even a relatively brisk run wasn't enough to stop Jacque from losing ground to the machine. Totally ignoring the plight of the other captive, Jacques tore into a full out sprint to make up ground, before settling on a more sustainable, but still fierce running speed. His hair matted to his forehead from sweat and he could feel his heart pounding rapidly. He knew the Russian was being totally destroyed, but since anything slower than his current speed would almost certainly cause him to be thrown off the treadmill -- leaving his balls behind- -- he didn't care.

"Oh that ball is history!!" Ghost shouted gleefully as the plates totally touched. Only two flaps of skin -- either side of the ruined scrotum -- separated them. Every ounce of pulped genital and fluid that had been in that side of the sack was now either on the floor or still oozing from between the plates.

"Uh-oh!" Ghost remarked callously as the plates around the left nut started to close.

"Oooh!" Jacques cried out. Despite this now foot-race like running he was losing ground to the machine. He was now so far out his sack was again stretched to nearly six inches, the testicles within bulging at the very end of the sack.

"OH GOD!" Jacques screamed as he put everything he had into keeping his legs moving. The tension on his nuts was now so tremendous, he could literally feel them being crushed between the chord wrapped around their base and the front of his scrotum... the machine lurched into an even higher gear. Jacques was sobbing horribly as his balls were stretched even further, turning a purplish blue as they continued to be compressed and stretched. He began to panic; he was literally running as fast as his muscular legs could go but it still wasn't enough... and he could feel his testicles starting to rip away from his body...

Jacques's and the Russian stud's screams combined to fill the room with an atrocious drone that would have made even the most callous person cringe, but Ghost seemed to be genuinely enjoying it. Jacques's heart pumped furiously to feed his straining legs, and as a result the Russian's left nut was now only a half an inch thick. It was blood red and dimples were forming all along the taught scrotum skin. The plates kept closing and the once enormous, round and firm nut was further compressed... flatter and flatter... until it was only three quarter inches wide. It looked as if a huge, red pancake had been wedged between the plates.

"Please... don't run!" The Russian wailed in broken English as he looked down in mortal terror. His last nut, the only remains of his once comically large manhood was being utterly crushed.

Despite his own fear, Jacques was struck by the plea. What was he doing to that poor man? What made Jacques's balls more important than the Russian's. Jacques started sobbing as he slowly stopped running and started jogging instead. He could feel his heart rate lower ever slightly as he lost ground to the machine. He could feel his testicles were starting to be ripped off his bod, but he didn't care. He tried to think of the most peaceful thing he could, which was a feat considering his situation. His mouth opened in a wide 'O' and a constant, high pitched squeal escaped his lips.

"Oh what is this?" Ghost said suddenly leaving the Russian, his left nut still dangerously compressed, but the plates no longer moving together.

Ghost arrived at Jacques just in time to see trickles of blood forming around where his stretch sack was attached to his pelvis. Behind his mask, Ghost was cutting Jacques genuinely quizzical looks. He pressed a button on the remote and the machine beeped to indicate it was now at the highest speed.

Jacques’s sack was starting to tear away from this body, the lateral force on his balls was compressing them into bulging oblong masses at the top of the sack...

"If you don't keep running, they'll rip right off,"

"I know!" Jacque got out between screams, feeling oddly satisfied with himself.

Even in his pain and terror wracked mine, Jacque had figured something out. If he simply stopped letting his heart beat faster, the plates wouldn't necessarily retract, but they wouldn't close further, either. Like Ghost had said the plates moved as the heart beat faster, not necessarily just because it was already beating fast.

Ghost looked on in confusion while Jacques cut him a 'fuck you' look, then blacked out. His legs instantly stopped running and he slumped forward, held up by his balls. As the conveyor belt moved him further away, his scrotum continued to tear…

SPLOOO---OOSH! Jacques's right nut imploded from the stress. Ghost looked on, satisfied with the drama this unexpected turn of events was adding to this webcast.

Suddenly there was a hideous, moist tearing sound, like meat being ripped from a bone.

RIII---IIII---P! SPLOSH!

Jacque's entire scrotum finally came free of his body right as this last, tortured nut exploded from the force. Jacques's tone body fell backward and -- no longer tethered to anything -- simply rolled off the back of the belt where he landed in a heap. Ghost grabbed the swinging ball bag and squeezed, and didn't stop until he was sure he had thoroughly pasted the already ruined organs. He then held the flattened bag up to the camera and began to tear it open like a wild animal. The skin made disgusting, wet tearing sounds as the liquefied innards splattered all over Ghost's mask. When he was done, there was nothing left of Jacques's one proud, modest balls but shredded skin and a slimy sheen of goop on the studio floor. When he was satisfied, and with the timer at just over one minute, Ghost threw down the shredded scrotum and walked to Jacques.

His face had relaxed to the point it looked like he was merely sleeping. Ghost put a hand on Jacque's still chest and could feel that his heart rate was rapidly slowing. He looked down at Jacque's crotch where blood was flowing uninterrupted. Jacques was dying, the drop in blood pressure slowing his heart.

Thirty seconds...

Through his wails of agony, the Russian screamed in his native language, pleading for Ghost to help Jacques.

"Please. Please help him," the Russian pleaded as he looked down with incomprehensible gratitude at the dying young man. The plates had stopped crushing his nut, but it was still being horribly compressed and starved of oxygen.

Twenty seconds...

Ghost stood to face the Russian, then turned to the cameras, "Well, fair is fair. "

He pressed a button on his remote, severing the telemetry between Jacques’s heart rate monitor and the vices. Ghost was unaware he had terminated the link just in time. Jacques heart had just stopped and had the sensor still been active the 'penalty' would have been initiated, totally squashing the Russian's last nut with one powerful slam.

Ghost stood and began dismantling the vices. The right nut was totally pulverized, the sack flattened on that side. But when the plates were removed from the left flattened nut, it slowly -- and painfully -- started to plump back to its normal, enormous size and shape. The Russian looked down with relief at his barely-spared titanic organ as wailed in agony from the pain radiating from his crotch. He let out a yowl of fright as he watched Ghost move toward him quickly, holding a white cloth which was rammed over his face. Then all was dark…

--

EPILOGUE

Officer Bulgakov was found in Valencia, Spain three weeks later. Like the 'Comfortable Canadian' he had been secreted into an upscale hotel, the timing of his arrival occurring just as the hotel's 'smart', remotely monitored security cameras were offline for maintenance. He was dressed all in white, his scrotum crudely mended, but his left testicle otherwise healed. It took some time for the staff – who spoke no Russian – and the officer – who spoke no Spanish – to figure out what was going on. But once they finally pieced together who it was the media blitz began almost instantaneously.

A week later, Bulgakov returned to Russia, but not before a stop in Paris the express his condolences to Jacques's husband Pierre. INTERPOL had identified Jacques’s from the video, but his role in the Russian’s story was kept secret to all but his immediate family lest they give away too much of their admittedly flimsy investigation. Consequently, the media, who was still following the every move of this latest Ghost victim, was perplexed what he was doing visiting France so soon after his harrowing ordeal.

Bulgakov, through tears, managed to get out in nearly-perfect French that he had been practicing obsessively for this very meeting: "Jacques was a good man. I am very sorry for your loss."

Pierre smiled and put his hand on Bulgakov’s knee.

"Thank you," he began, waiting for the translator to parot him in Russian.

"Although I wonder when he'll stop wearing that ridiculous alien mask. And the camera angles this time..."

The translator repeated the message in Russian, confusion etched across her face as she did so.

It took Bulgakov a minute to comprehend what he had just heard. The alien mask was one of the Ghost details that hadn't been dropped to the public... Bulgakov’s eyes bugged open in stunned realization, and he was about to speak before the translator repeated another message "He says he's very distraught. He's grateful you came, Mr. Bulgakov, but thinks it best you return home now."

Pierre motioned toward the apartment's front door and the Russian officer -- in blank, detached disillusionment -- left the apartment and walked back to his hotel in the rain.

...STATUS 409 - Conflict

The story continues... here