atticous,
As he put the gray duffle bag on the poker table, he felt as if he won a billion-dollar jackpot from the lottery. With a sparkle in his vermillion eyes, a sinister grin in his crooked face, and a furrow in his thick eyebrows, he cackled and sat on the throne-like armchair with self-satisfaction.
He schemed and contemplated about his deal with this innocent, bizarre-looking Swiss lad the day ago. He was wondering if he succeeded in luring the boy into his unescapable trap and in giving him the other duffle bag with the counterfeited pennies, dimes, and dollars inside.
"You're an agent for Escondido - ah, I mean, a spy, right? You see, Team Oculta is planning to infiltrate the Radio Tower - it's like this, my minions will be dressing up as if they're rushing to their offices, with their replicated entry cards, and they're going to start shooting at the windows to startle all the workers, and when those imbeciles are fazed enough, they'll be held captives - they'll be set free only if they tell us the secrets and plans of the government. But they've smartened up and seem to be aware of our plans - they've tightened up their security, set up alarms all over the place, and even blacklisted us from the Radio Tower!"
Seeing the frustration, exasperation, and indignation of Giovanno's voice, the lad calmly asked what he wanted him to do.
"I want you to stop working for Escondido. Your company is close to being smithereens - your stocks are a wee close to bein' bankrupt, you're being squashed by your co-workers all the time, you don't feel like going to work anymore... why don't you work for Team Oculta instead? You're the numero uno of my list - you're shrewd enough to twist the truth, you're determined to get whatever you want, you have a knack for confiding secrets to the right people and making stories that are untrue yet believable for ordinary people, uh, those pathetic simpletons. You could get whatever you want - a hefty thousand bucks for every hour you work, a villa where we can improve on your spying and aiming skills, and the revenge you have plotted against your parents for forsaking you..."
The lad felt so pressured by burly Giovanno's words. Yes, he was only given a paltry half dollar for every secret he would tell, he has been living in shanties for practically his whole existence, and he was abandoned by his parents since he was just a good-for-nothing boy, but the inner voices in his head made him mute and chary to deny the offer Giovanno was proposing.
"Wait, stop. You're being blinded by your impulses, whims, anger, thirst for... please, just don't do this."
"Instead of listening to him and becoming allies with him, why don't ya' just leave him alone, betray him, and find someone else... he might even make your life worse."
"He might be right about your dark, do-not-ever-want-to-be-known-by-others past, but he's mistaken by what you really do at Escondido. There you're unraveling the mysteries to free the people and help them, here you'll be doing the same thing but on the wrong way."
And another voice came, as curt as the bomb-like voice of his ungrateful parents, "He's corrupting your conscience. Tell him that you don’t like it!"
His impulses, whims, anger, thirst for revenge eventually blinded him. He eventually thought that being allies with him would stop his getting-worse-per-day life. He eventually realized unravelling mysteries to control the people and oppress them was better. He eventually accepted the fact that his conscience was being corrupted, and he told himself he liked it.
So he eventually became in cahoots with him and got the duffle bag containing the money enough to feed himself for the next twenty years, enough to build a mansion big enough to outshine that of his parents', and enough to buy him the gear and professional apparel to convince everyone he is a spy.
Giovanno was so amused by the gullible attitude of that young man that he was unaware of the clicking sound of shoes on the hallway, the zip of the gray duffle bag he gave a day ago, and the flurry of leaf-like papers drifting freely in the air.
A boss-like figure was walking with heavy footsteps outside. He was now wearing a black-striped fedora, opaque aviators, and an elegant black suit with a tie neatly ironed; he held a business case with him and wore a smile so nondescript that whoever would see him would not know who he was. But he had that same deceived look of the boy whom Giovanno talked to the day ago – the same vengeful eyes of the boy disinherited by his ancestors, and the same frustration of the kid whose dreams were not fulfilled just because of extreme poverty.
A bullet was shot with Giovanno's name on it. The figure then gave a loud cry and wept so loudly that the people outside the room could even hear his voice. He retrieved the other gray duffle bag from the poker table, threw it near the exit of the room, and ran along the labyrinthine hallway as if he was a Team Oculta grunt trying to escape from the heinous crime he committed. For his conscience was corrupted, and he realized it was too late to do anything to cleanse it.
Literary: Conscience Corrupted
As he put the gray duffle bag on the poker table, he felt as if he won a billion-dollar jackpot from the lottery. With a sparkle in his vermillion eyes, a sinister grin in his crooked face, and a furrow in his thick eyebrows, he cackled and sat on the throne-like armchair with self-satisfaction.
He schemed and contemplated about his deal with this innocent, bizarre-looking Swiss lad the day ago. He was wondering if he succeeded in luring the boy into his unescapable trap and in giving him the other duffle bag with the counterfeited pennies, dimes, and dollars inside.
"You're an agent for Escondido - ah, I mean, a spy, right? You see, Team Oculta is planning to infiltrate the Radio Tower - it's like this, my minions will be dressing up as if they're rushing to their offices, with their replicated entry cards, and they're going to start shooting at the windows to startle all the workers, and when those imbeciles are fazed enough, they'll be held captives - they'll be set free only if they tell us the secrets and plans of the government. But they've smartened up and seem to be aware of our plans - they've tightened up their security, set up alarms all over the place, and even blacklisted us from the Radio Tower!"
Seeing the frustration, exasperation, and indignation of Giovanno's voice, the lad calmly asked what he wanted him to do.
"I want you to stop working for Escondido. Your company is close to being smithereens - your stocks are a wee close to bein' bankrupt, you're being squashed by your co-workers all the time, you don't feel like going to work anymore... why don't you work for Team Oculta instead? You're the numero uno of my list - you're shrewd enough to twist the truth, you're determined to get whatever you want, you have a knack for confiding secrets to the right people and making stories that are untrue yet believable for ordinary people, uh, those pathetic simpletons. You could get whatever you want - a hefty thousand bucks for every hour you work, a villa where we can improve on your spying and aiming skills, and the revenge you have plotted against your parents for forsaking you..."
The lad felt so pressured by burly Giovanno's words. Yes, he was only given a paltry half dollar for every secret he would tell, he has been living in shanties for practically his whole existence, and he was abandoned by his parents since he was just a good-for-nothing boy, but the inner voices in his head made him mute and chary to deny the offer Giovanno was proposing.
"Wait, stop. You're being blinded by your impulses, whims, anger, thirst for... please, just don't do this."
"Instead of listening to him and becoming allies with him, why don't ya' just leave him alone, betray him, and find someone else... he might even make your life worse."
"He might be right about your dark, do-not-ever-want-to-be-known-by-others past, but he's mistaken by what you really do at Escondido. There you're unraveling the mysteries to free the people and help them, here you'll be doing the same thing but on the wrong way."
And another voice came, as curt as the bomb-like voice of his ungrateful parents, "He's corrupting your conscience. Tell him that you don’t like it!"
His impulses, whims, anger, thirst for revenge eventually blinded him. He eventually thought that being allies with him would stop his getting-worse-per-day life. He eventually realized unravelling mysteries to control the people and oppress them was better. He eventually accepted the fact that his conscience was being corrupted, and he told himself he liked it.
So he eventually became in cahoots with him and got the duffle bag containing the money enough to feed himself for the next twenty years, enough to build a mansion big enough to outshine that of his parents', and enough to buy him the gear and professional apparel to convince everyone he is a spy.
Giovanno was so amused by the gullible attitude of that young man that he was unaware of the clicking sound of shoes on the hallway, the zip of the gray duffle bag he gave a day ago, and the flurry of leaf-like papers drifting freely in the air.
A boss-like figure was walking with heavy footsteps outside. He was now wearing a black-striped fedora, opaque aviators, and an elegant black suit with a tie neatly ironed; he held a business case with him and wore a smile so nondescript that whoever would see him would not know who he was. But he had that same deceived look of the boy whom Giovanno talked to the day ago – the same vengeful eyes of the boy disinherited by his ancestors, and the same frustration of the kid whose dreams were not fulfilled just because of extreme poverty.
A bullet was shot with Giovanno's name on it. The figure then gave a loud cry and wept so loudly that the people outside the room could even hear his voice. He retrieved the other gray duffle bag from the poker table, threw it near the exit of the room, and ran along the labyrinthine hallway as if he was a Team Oculta grunt trying to escape from the heinous crime he committed. For his conscience was corrupted, and he realized it was too late to do anything to cleanse it.
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