Chapter four

Black ink flowed smoothly from the hand-crafted solid gold nib, effortlessly gliding over the paper, practically turning Oenomaus’ handwriting into calligraphy. Oenomaus now understood and appreciated why people would spend hundreds of pounds on a Montblanc fountain pen.

Impatiently, Oenomaus continue to scribe:

Stupid bitch, weak ass bitch
Stupid bitch, weak ass bitch
Stupid bitch, weak ass bitch

‘Have I not done thy bidding,’ Oenomaus thought. ‘Is my servitude no longer required? Why does Dominus not send me to task?’

Stupid bitch, weak ass bitch
Stupid bitch, weak ass bitch

It had been like this for several weeks since Oenomaus completed the last service for Dominus. Only able to steal each night a few precious hours to check if new instructions had been posted.

Surely Oenomaus’s last conquest must have pleased Dominus, their victim’s death was reported in the local papers, eventually found at home alone, suspected of dyspnea, shortness of breath, a hallmark symptom of covid. Let his death be a lesson to us all, and the tragedy of his anti-vax stance.

Each time Oenomaus accomplished a task, the appropriation of the vessel was further established. This is why Oenomaus was anxious to continue these labours so that there would be no need to continue to hide in the shadows.

The bloodlust grew with each sacrifice, Oenomaus contemplated acting independently to satisfy the thirst, trawling the streets and bars for the unworthy who would be given the opportunity of redemption at the hands of Oenomaus and granted passage to the Elysian Plains. However, without instruction from Dominus, the act would be hollow and of no advancement.

Oenomaus was birthed out of pain. In the metaphorical womb, it had waited in the dark, biding its time for the inevitable crack in the vessel. The birth was traumatic, and Oenomaus could have easily perished had it not been for Dominus who nursed and coaxed it into this world. It owed Dominus its fealty and until the debt was settled Oenomaus would not be fully free.

Oenomaus was hindered by the vessel, and only when the vessel was at its feeblest could it seize control and manifest its physical presence. Its twin, temporarily resigned to the darkness, disgusted Oenomaus for its weaknesses, for its yearning to be loved and accepted. It held its twin in contempt unworthy of life, of its place.

Oenomaus was a warrior, a fighter of blood and sand, it would not need the validation of others, just its given purpose. Once fully formed it would unleash its rage onto the world, unrestrained, undeterred, and critically dominant over its twin.

Stupid bitch, weak ass bitch
Stupid bitch, weak ass bitch

The window this night was closing, Oenomaus opened the laptop and logged in. Would the long wait end tonight? Would Dominus send instruction of a new foe, a new challenge, and an opportunity to prove its worth?

Nothing, no new posting, no new message, nothing.

Oenomaus slammed its hands on the table making the Montblanc pen skip across the desktop and onto the floor. Anger, frustration, jealousy, and questioning rose from the pit of the stomach and spread to the heart. Had Dominus forsaken it, no longer in need of it? The emotions threatened to boil over, to trigger Oenomaus into a rash action potentially exposing itself and risking all. Maybe this was a test, a demonstration of initiative, perhaps to select the next sacrificial offering.

The twin stirred; time was short.

Oenomaus went to shut the laptop cover when a notification bell punctuated the night air. Eagerly Oenomaus logged back in, opened the YouTube app, and navigated to the notifications.

Serendipitous uploaded: Another one bites the dust – Queen (5 mins ago)

The anger, the terrible unknowing evaporated in an instant replaced with joy and ecstasy. But time was pressing and there was still much to do.

Oenomaus retrieved the pen from the floor and checked there had been no damage. With the pen at the ready and a fresh sheet of paper prepared, Oenomaus clicked the mouse button and started the video. Typically, the adverts played first, and then the video started.

The high-hat drum provided the tempo, followed by the four chords of the bass guitar. Freddie Mercury stood dressed in a yellow singlet, black trousers, and white trainers. Brian May added the now-famous rift.

Let’s go,
Steve walks warily down the street,
With his brim pulled way down low,
Ain’t no sound but the sound of his feet,
Machine guns ready to go,
Are you ready hey are you ready for this?
Are you hanging on the edge of your seat?
Out of the doorway the bullets rip,
To the sound of the beat yeah

Another one bites the dust
Another one bites the dust

Oenomaus wrote copious notes and had to replay the video a few times before reaching the end. Finally, the pen was laid to rest and Oenomaus re-read what was written. Information detailing the target’s name, location, and likely activity on the day was captured.

There was just enough time this evening to conduct a social media search on the person to view their current photos and glean insight into the individual’s patterns, friends, and family.

With the encounter due to happen within the week, there was barely enough time to perform a thorough review and rehearse the plan of action. Still, it was preferable than having to wait to be called upon.

With the details committed to memory, Oenomaus cleared the search history and shredded the notes. The twin’s consciousness was approaching like dawn’s light.

As a last act of defiance, Oenomaus wrote two final sentences before also shredding the paper.

Stupid bitch, weak ass bitch
She watches me but she will never contain me…