The Inquisition

"I am a professional practiioner of this art. I am to be as concise as humanly possible.
I will not fall prey to my projects emotions, pleas, or bargains
I will be as stern as the steel that I wield in the name of dire information.
I will gain all the knowledge and information that is required of my services
By any and all means possible.
I will not end a life until the request to do so is given.
I will uphold all my principles and codes for as long as I am branded with the seal"

-The Inquisitors Creed

He hated it when they took matters into their own hands, and bitched about it later.
He disliked working with lower class mob families, the payment was laughable, and the work enviroment was far from pleasent.
He made his way to the meat packing plant on 5th street, his large black trunk being towed behind him on it's wheels. The sound of clanging metal could be heard under it's weathered exterior. He was a man with a purpose, a practice long forgotten and dreaded thoughout the ages. His predecessors were at their zenith back in the day, the forebearers of his art. He had spent years under the practice of Inquisitor Faust, to perfect the craft that was too taboo in the trades of men. One had to have a blackness in his heart to perform, a dark feathered wing over his head, and a pale white one as well.

"Where have ye been? We called for ye an hour ago at yer hotel!" Gavin McClane exclaimed as he pointed at his wrist watch.
The stranger walked into the main foyer, where he stood and looked at each and every one of the men who stood before him.

"Well? What excuse are ye going to use? I don't pay ye ta be late!" Gavin continued.
The stranger removed his black over coat; he wore a black three piece suit complete with a blood red tie. He handed his coat to one of the men closest to him and stepped into the light.
He was a tall man of meduim build, his raven black hair was cut short but still sported spiked bangs. His eyes had a cold and intelligent look in them, his jawline was taught and sharply chiseled.
As he looked around the room, he said, "I take it you are Mr. McClane?"
Gavin nodded, "Aye, I'm the man who hired ye. Now tell me why-"
The stranger silenced the man with his right hand, "Why do I already hear the project screaming?"
The men in the room looked at each other, then at Gavin.
"I told you not to start on him until I got here."
Gavin cleared his throat, "Like I said, I hired-"
The stranger cut him off, "How badly injured is he?"
A man spoke up, "We couldn't wait any longer! Ye were already running late!"
The stranger narrowed his eyes in impatience, "Why is it that everytime you Irishmen hire me, I show up to a scene that is already wreaking of blood?"
The room fell silent.
The stranger sighed heavily and retrieved his heavy trunk, "Show me to him."
Gavin had one of his men lead the way, the stranger followed.

"I never caught yer name," Gavin said as he walked beside the stranger down a dimly lit hallway.
"Mr. Chambers is fine." the stranger replied.
"Okay Mr. chambers, the arsehole is right through there, in the cutting room. Don't worry, we already laid down the plastic like ye asked us to."
Chambers nodded his approval and stepped into the room.
"Shut the door and bolt it please, I'll call you when I need you."
Gavin nodded and did as he was told.

Joey "Nails" Ferelli was in deep shit. He knew the Irish mob knew, and he knew that his buddies weren't going to bust him out. They weren't going to bust him out because they didn't even know he had gone missing from the pool hall 3 hours ago. They had abducted him while he was in the bathroom, shoved him through the window and into a waiting car parked outside. They wanted answers, and they wanted them now.

The room was well lit, creating a greenish blue tint to the room. He knew he was in the cutting room where the meat packers normally dismembered and chopped up the meat.
For some reason, it was spotless, cleaner than what it should have been. He didn't understand that, and it scared him.
They had already roughed him up earlier, punching him repeatedly in the face and stomach untl he vomitted. They knocked out a few of his teeth too, he saw the yellowish white glint of them on the floor by his feet. And what was with all the plastic? That normally doesn't happen unless someone was getting whacked or chopped up. Were they going to chop him up?
He was tied to a folding chair in the middle of the room, naked and cold. He had already tried to free himself, but only ended up giving himself rope burn.
He jumped when the heavy door opened, and in walked the stranger.
"Who the fuck are you?! Get me the fuck out of here!"
The stranger ignored him as he wheeled in a dark trunk and set it in the center of the room.
In the center of the room was a table, and very slowly the stranger opened his trunk and produced a dark red roll of velvet. He didn't unroll it.
He started to roll up his sleeves, taking great care.
"Who the fuck are you?! What the fuck do you want?!"
The stranger reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, lit one up and took a long drag.
"My name is Mr. Chambers, and I'll be asking the questions, you will answer while you still have a tongue."
Joey shutted up, the man continued to smoke his cigarette.
"In case you haven't guessed, the Irish mob want some information from you. They know how stubborn you are, hence the name "Nails". They know you won't talk without persuasion, and it seems they already tried. That is why they called upon me."
Joey gulped, "Who are you buddy?! What are you gonna do to me?"
Chambers put out his cigarette, flicking the butt away, "I am here to do what I am payed to do. I am here to get what I want for giving them what they want. And they want you to talk. I am going to make you talk, I am going to make you tell me every...single...detail...that they want to know. Don't try lying, don't try pleading, do that and I'll refuse you the morphine."
"Morphine?!" Joey gasped.
"Mmm," Chambers said, taking a seat next to him, "I'll give you the details on that later my friend. But now, I need you to state your name."
"Wh-wh-what for?!" Joey stammered.
Chambers rose to his feet slowly, then with a quickness, back handed Joey across the face.
Joey choked and cried out from the blow, blood spattering the plastic draped on the walls and floor.
"I said I ask the questions here," Chambers said coldly as he wiped his hand clean of blood, 'Your only job is to answer."
"The fuck was that for-?!"
Before Joey could finish, Chambers kicked him hard in the left knee cap. A loud SNAP was heard.
'Holy fucking shit man! You broke my fuckin knee! You broke my fuckin knee!" He screamed and writhed in his chair.
"I...don't...care.." Chambers said, circling Joey, "Now answer the god damned question or I'll dislocate both of your arms. State...your...name."
He lowered himself to Joey's level, so they were looking eye to eye.
"J-J-Joey Ferelli!" he stammered.
"Close...but I'm sorry, I needed your full name."
Joey instinctively flinched, ready for another brutal blow, but none came.
"Joey A-A-Anthony Ferelli!"
Satisfied, Chambers rose to his normal height, "Good, now shall we begin?"