The guide this evening had porcelain skin and great waves of hair the color of midnight. Very light round eyes, like full moons reflected in water. One could get lost in them.

The assistant tried to do just that as the pressure on his neck mounted. Lose himself; will himself elsewhere, into a new moonlit dimension. Simply anywhere else. The hand now gripping his neck had given him a few blows to the face, and he felt cold and wet with some liquid pouring down his forehead over his eyes. It was just sweat; he was being denied even the relief of seeing his own blood. It meant he hadn’t suffered enough. More to come. All the while the guide watched impassively, even smiling faintly, while nursing a wounded shoulder.

The guide’s body tonight was smaller, and the assistant had to wonder why this was the one chosen, and why this man, this place.

In some deeper, selfish recess of his mind, he knew.

The man they’d come to meet tonight was no larger or stronger than the ones from the white room. That’s what the assistant had thought. He thought it would be easy. He was the reason they had come, and he was the reason he was being choked and the guide had been thrown to the opposite end of the room, landing in a twisted pile.

Luckily, oh luckily, the guide was undeterred.

As the guide and the man traded jabs, as his head was swung and squeezed, he saw the padded bag. There were only two jars tonight, and one had cracked when it was thrown. He despaired for it. A life wasted.

The hand around his neck was saying something. He ignored it. He could only see the jar. He wanted to say something, only to the jar.

When the guide said, “he isn’t listening anymore,” the assistant even thought for one crazed moment it was about the jar.

The guide grabbed the man’s hand bent back, fingers first then hand and arm, rolling flesh and bone up backward like a dirty carpet. The assistant could breathe again. The carpet continued to roll up tight and was flung back and there was a bellow in his ear. The bellow was replaced by the sound of wet rubber tearing.

The man’s throat was gone, what was left was an obscene open slit.

The assistant staggered free, leaned a hand forward and caught something clammy and hard. He saw one of the knives had been pressed into his palm. He flinched but now there were another set of hands, stopping him from throwing it and running, fingers wrapping around his, binding him to the handle of the knife.

“Now. What do you want to do with him?”

“I just want to get out of here,” the assistant said. “I’m sorry.”

“You can’t be like that when we’re here upon your request. You knew this man, huh? Go on then. Get it all out.”

The hand pulled and virtually threw him at their quarry, and the pale guide strode away to pick up the bag that was dropped. The assistant looked from the twisted body to his hand to the guide again and shuddered. He’d just drop the knife. That would show–

“Well, I can’t do much if I’m holding the bag, can I?” The guide had a lilting tone, a teetering warble, like a boulder on a cliff. “He’ll be fine tomorrow. You know that. A new person.” Bloodied hands held out. “A newborn baby.”

“I think… I think he’s had enough already. If we’re taking him with us...”

“Had enough?” The hands were back around his. Guiding them. “Don’t make me laugh.”

The knife in their combined grip went through the man’s nose like jelly. It didn’t go all the way through, leaving a flabby joint of flesh just above the lip. The detached lump of cartilage slid down and hung, wriggling, a curtain of blood forming on the upper lip. Air wheezed through the red-black nostrils left exposed by the cut.

With a wet gag, the assistant broke away. He only succeeded because the guide let go of his hand, taking command of the knife.

“Humans can live with lost limbs, having all their skin burnt off. Without eyes, without ears and noses. Bolts through the brain, paralyzed, half liquefied. Don’t be afraid to live a little yourself.” The remaining jar was raised to the light. “It will be easier next time.”

Through dry heaves that threatened vomit, but never gave the relief of following through, the assistant heard himself snivel, ‘why did you say that’ and ‘why didn’t you change,’ and ‘why did you ever listen to me?’