A keen desire urged me forward, my curiosity getting the better of me as the lights clicked off. Left with the computer's light to grip my attention, everything had been set up perfectly.

I scrolled through the puzzles of the Dark Web, clicking on all the links. Drugs, guns, and my favorite, the Red Rooms. Though a rarity, they had grown very popular, a myth to those who haven't seen it in all its glory. A true event.

This time, it was a young man. Mr. Cunnings - as the host had called himself - danced about the panicked gentleman. "Age 22, named 'Connor', quite the sight. We're gonna have lots of fun, aren't we, Connor?" He asked leaning over his victim. I laughed along with the host, listening to the helpless pleas. The chat box burst with eager bidders for the choice of torture. A few moments later, Mr. Cunnings' voice broke in, "the highest bidder, Zonar_11! You all know how it goes," he pointed to his webcam, glancing to his wall of weapons. They hung by weapon and size, many rusted and old, while some looked pristine. Again, I was unfortunate enough to lose a bidding, but I still kept my hopes up for next time.

The chat filled again with congrats, and the overwhelmed Zonar_11, hurriedly typing out a sequence of torture weapons.

1. Brass knuckles
2. Mini flamethrower
3. Scimitar

The host took it from there. Blood splattered heavily around the room, screams echoing out of my speakers. Each new weapon brought forth more pained and hoarse cries. I couldn't help but get aroused a little. Again, it was over before I knew it, the host closing with his usual "I'll see you next time," and I was left in the darkness of my bedroom, the quiet beckoning for my bed. I sighed, leaving the page, double checking to see for all of my trails being erased, and trudged to my bed.

It was no joke to call them red rooms. Replaying the hour of brutal messes, I dozed warmly to sleep.