<strong>Enzo's Clinic</strong><br/><br/>Enzo waited until his brother had disappeared from sight before rising to refill his glass. Gambling was one vice that had never had particular hold over the doctor, but if he was forced to wager he'd bet against the young man. Gandhi would fall into the grip of corruption if he were granted a fraction of the Xantelli power. What hope did a capricious young man like Richard have? At least the Power restrained them from killing, so that when they went to their graves there would be at least one mortal sin that did not stain them.<br/><br/>It could be argued, though, that there were fates worse than death. Enzo sat again in his chair with a fresh glass of grappa and lit a cigarette. "Belinda, come have a chat," he called. Under the influence of his control the surface of the dark wood table before him began to swirl and melt, eventually reforming into the features of a beautiful but tortured woman. The lines of her grief melded with the grain of the wood, though he permitted no tears to flow. Belinda Johnson had once been an agent, one of those foolhardy types who thought they stood a chance of infiltrating the base of Xantelli power. She had been caught, of course, and in recognition of his role in the interrogation Marco had granted her to him. She had taken many forms since then, though he had grown bored of her in recent weeks. How long had it been since he had granted her speech last? Two, three weeks?<br/><br/>"Please kill me", she whispered hoarsely. Her spirit had long since been broken; part of what had put him off playing with her of late. There was simply no fun in it any more - every conversation with her began in exactly the same way.<br/><br/>"I'm afraid not, dear girl. That would be far too light a punishment for the crimes you've committed. I had thought it might be time for a change, though. The days must grow so tedious for you here. Have you any suggestions? Perhaps something outside - a weather vane? A welcome mat? Or a toilet, maybe? Or perhaps we should give you yet another chance at escape. Maybe even a sporting chance this time; a torso with a single arm to drag yourself along?"<br/><br/>Belinda's heavy wooden eyelids closed, and her whisper was nearly inaudible. "It doesn't matter. Do what you will."<br/><br/>See? There. No fun at all; it was hardly even worth the effort of trying. He needed another slave, and soon. He would need to talk to Marco and Marie to see what might have come in lately. Enzo slowly put out his cigarette on the polished surface of the wood, the glowing end burning a neat dark circle. He made sure she would feel the equivalent pain. Her screech of agony filled the small office. He froze her features and her awareness in mid-scream.<br/><br/>There were no more visitors scheduled for tonight. He thought he would head to the manor for dinner. If Marco was in a good mood it could be profitable; if not, he could always make his regrets known and retire early.<br/><br/>---> To the Manor!