It was unusual for the Weber household to be silent at night. Alexandra and Andrew Weber were known to hold parties and gatherings almost every single night. With its spacious front lawn filled with commissioned sculptures, to a just as wide ballroom equally filled with lavish painting, it was almost expected for the pair to always find reasons to showcase their collections. On any other night, the manor would have laughing colleagues, drinking the finest wines and mingling with the couple. But not on this night. Tonight, the house was quiet.
When you enter the Weber manor, you will first notice a grand, spiraling staircase leading up to the house's library. What most guests fail to notice, was a door hidden beneath said staircase. The door was plain, unassuming, with a knob designed to blend into the wallpaper. In the room beyond was a staircase leading down, into a basement only those close to the couple know about.
In that basement, arms tied behind his back, sat a young Maxwell Madison. Only 18 years of age, the young boy snuck into the manor hoping to steal a small fortune. He had successfully found easy entrance into the house, the roving guards not once catching sight of him.
He did not think his heist through. If Maxwell was any smarter, he would have observed more than the guard's patterns. He would have mapped out the house, decided early on what to take, and made a quick getaway. But no, once he saw that the Weber house was quiet, he decided to strike.
As such he spent quite a bit of time rifling through each room, comparing each item he saw and taking what shined the most. Maxwell never noticed a car pull up in front. He never noticed the car's driver heading inside, to the very room he was in. The only indication he had that he was caught, was when a needle jammed itself into his neck, its contents quickly entering his system. Maxwell's world faded to black.
When he came to, he was tied up in the basement. On one side of the room, barely illuminated by light, was a desk and some drawers. On it were pens and stacks of papers. Beside that table was a door. Maxwell sat against the wall, a lone light shining upon the other person in the room. A woman sat on a soft, leather chair in front of him. She had on a black pencil skirt, stockings, and stilettos. A green blouse hugged her frame tightly, and she had a coat emblazoned with the words "Saint Magdalene's". Her hair was tied in a neat bun.
"Fancy running into a stranger here," she began. "And one with my jewelry at that. Who are you?"
The boy stared at her. "I was just lost, is all."
"I don't think so, boy. Now answer my question before I call the police."
Maxwell kept his mouth shut. The lady can call the police if she wants. He can spend the night in a cell, and in the morning one of his mates would pay bail. Better not to tell her anything about him, he reasoned.
The woman sighed. She stood up and walked towards Maxwell, staring down at him. She sighed once more, then her palm quickly struck his cheek. "From how you're dressed, I'm guessing you're a street rat. Tell me your name."
Stunned, Maxwell's mind sputtered to a halt. He spat on her shoes, glaring up at her. "I'm not talking to some whore."
"Children these days," she sighed.
Before Maxwell could react, the woman kicked his balls. "My name, rat, is Alexandra Weber."
Maxwell's body shook from the pain and he tried to pull away. Alexandra grabbed him by the hair and stomped her foot down on his hurting manhood. "A rat like you, disrespecting me? No, no. We can't have that now, can we?" She twisted her foot, pressing down harder on his dick. "Give me your name now or I will cut your balls off."
"M-Max," he shouted, "take it off!"
"Full name, rat."
"Maxwell M-madison! Get your-"
Alexandra slapped the boy across his face, stopping whatever he was about to say. She yanked Maxwell forward, dragging him towards the desk by his hair. "Well, Mr. Madison. I was initially going to invite you to my school. To help a wayward youth, as it were."
Hand gripping his hair tighter, almost pulling it away from his scalp, Maxwell could barely speak from the pain. His balls ached, the impact having sent shockwaves across his body; his face stung from her slaps. Tears started streaming down his face.
"No, you are not worth it," Alexandra continued. "But my husband and I can still find some use for a rat like you." She opened a drawer and took from it a syringe. "Well, rat, when you wake up you'll wish you never spat on your god."
"No, please-" he began, but the needle had struck him once again.
For the second time that night Maxwell Madison's world faded to black, and the Weber Household descended to unusual silence once more.
