My eyes narrowed, locked onto the witch in front of me. She held the runic dagger between us, its runic symbols glowing faintly in the dim room, it’s blade mirroring my reflection. To put it kindly, I looked like hell. The bags under my eyes had deepened, and my untrimmed beard and dirt streaked face were a reminder of how consuming the past few nights had taken its toll on me.
All the pain, the hurt, and-the loss, my heart aching at the latter, have led me to this moment. I worked decades to perfect and practice my craft. To use my powers to protect those who couldn’t defend. To be their savior. Yet it still wasn’t enough to save the people I care about. My friends, the ones I loved, have all gotten hurt or died because of me. Because I wasn’t strong enough. I was naive. I can’t let that happen. I won’t let it happen again. I took a deep breath and reached my hand out to the dagger.
The witch drew the knife back faintly, sneering a smile at me.
“Once complete, you cannot go back, wizard. Dark magic will forever reside in you once the deal has been struck. Even as someone as-“ she paused, her eyes flicking me over with disdain-“noble” she spat, “will be consumed by it.”
“I know what has to be done” I exhaled, glowering at her.
I grabbed the hilt of the blade and raised the steel to my palm. No turning back now, I thought to myself. I swiped the blade across my hand. I clenched my hand, releasing the blood as it streaked and dropped into the cauldron.
The pain in my hand intensified, crippling me down to my knees. The ground began to shake as the shearing pain began to rise through my whole body. Every muscle fiber began to contract stealing the breath from my lungs. I could hear the witche’s cackle growing in octave.
A black smoke began to rise from the cauldron floating inches before my face. It grew in size before it consumed the room and towered over me. It striked like a serpent, colliding into me and coiling into my mouth and into my mind. I began to levitate and convulse as the darkness consumed me entirely. My mind had become renewed and transformed.
I dropped to the ground, catching my balance. I breathed as if I was breathing again for the first time. I felt reborn. I flexed my hands and could feel insatiable power burrow through. I had never felt raw power like this before, and felt disgust in how weak and frail I was before.
Those who wronged me, who brought pain amongst those I cared for, the ones who slaughtered my family will beg for my mercy. I will show them true unforigivng pain. I am their maker. I am vengeance.
I am fear itself.
I had just dropped off my last passenger, concluding my grueling 12-hour shift. Enduring through relentless traffic and miserable tips, all I craved was the solace of my home, where the promise of a cold beer and snug bed beckoned me. Just when I thought my day was done, she leapt into my cab. The back door behind me opened, heavy rain becoming more audible catching me off guard.
"Hey, uh-uh" I began "I'm clocked out for the night, find another-" The sight of four crisp Benjamins in my rearview mirror cut my words short. Her hands were shaking and I could hear the desperation in her tone.
"18th and Harris! Please, I can give you more when we get there." She made eye contact with me as she pleaded. "Just get me out of here." I looked at her and back to the greedy Franklins staring back at me. As much as I wanted to selfishly kick her to the curb, I could sense that something wasn't right. Call me old fashioned but I couldn't turn down a damsel in distress. Her blue eyes pierced into mine, mascara running down her cheeks. The extra cash could sweeten the bitterness of my day.
"Alright..." I sighed, shifted into drive, and rolled away. A relieved exhale escaped her as she settled into the seat. 'Just drop off the girl, pocket some extra money, and go home,' I repeated to myself. It was only a 15-minute detour, and if it meant ensuring her safety, my conscience could rest easier.
As a seasoned taxi driver, I've cultivated a knack for keeping my nose out of others' affairs. Meddling often leads to more chaos and confusion, and I've learned that sometimes it is best to stay in your own lane. The last thing I needed tonight was an angry boyfriend at my doorstep. Yet, it didn't mean I couldn't show some concern for my passengers.
"Are you hurt?" I asked, the abrupt sound of my voice causing her to jolt. Her eyes met mine in the mirror.
"No. I'm alright. Just one of those nights, you know?" She said behind a fragile smile.
I chuckled. "Oh believe me I do. Nothing a good night's sleep can't solve" At that, her body language seemed to relax and I could see her smile. Assured she was psychically fine, I eased back into the seat and turned on the radio. I turned to the final direction which led me into a dark alleyway.
"Alright, time to pay up, deals a dea-" A sudden alarm blared from the radio, catching me off guard.
"Authorities are currently on high alert for a young woman spotted fleeing the vicinity of a crime scene. The circumstances following the crime are said to be extremely graphic and deranged. The suspect is believed to be unpredictable-" the radio continued.
The hairs on the back of my neck rose in silent alarm, and I shot a quick glance at the rearview mirror. In its reflective depths, cold beastly eyes fixed onto mine, sending fear through me. The once fragile and scared girl had been replaced by a predatory aura.
I raised my hands shakily, a desperate plea escaping my lips. "Hey look, I don't want—"
She moved with an almost supernatural swiftness. A gasp escaped me as her hand tore through the seat, plunging into my chest. The pain was sharp, quick, and then—gone, replaced by euphoria. I could feel her breath on my neck, warm lips pressed against my cheek. I could feel her relax the grip of my heart and release me. Without a whisper, she vanished into the heavy rain. As the rhythm of the heavy rain eased me, a peculiar calm washed over me. I found myself sinking into the seat, the sleep I longed for beckoning me.
"Get her off me!" Keegan wailed. The woman in the labcoat, lifeless only moments ago, now clamped her teeth onto their squadmate's neck. Edwards, the breach specialist, cleared his sidearm from his holster and aimed at the woman. The woman's mouth oozed with blood as Keegan, on his knees, fought desperately to dislodge her grip. With just 5 meters between them, Edwards had a clear shot but hesitated for fear of hitting his friend.
"Screw this." Diaz, the bigger of the group, rushed forward.
"Diaz, no! Stay back that's an order!" Squad leader Hicks, who was quiet and calm during the whole altercation had screamed out.
Ignoring his leader, Diaz held his tactical M4 at the ready with trained authority. "Get the fuck off him you-" In an instant of horror, she raised her head and whirled toward Diaz, tackling the man. Keegan collapsed to the floor with velvet hands struggling to clasp his neck. Diaz's feet kicked and thrashed, his screams drowned in a wet gurgle.
"Damnit!" Hicks screamed, drawing his .45 pistol with calm composure, taking aim, and firing. The bullet struck the woman through her temple, propelling her off the downed man. To the team's astonishment, she remained unyielding. Aggravated, she clawed at the wound with a wretched screech, blood pooling and dripping from her lips.
"What is she?" Bennings, the medic, yelled in confusion, emptying an entire clip into her. Each bullet caused her body to twitch, and her screeches reverberated. Dropping to all fours, she gained speed and hurled herself into a nearby metal vent, disappearing.
Breaths were heavy and heaving, adrenaline pumping. Empty mags clattered to the floor as fresh ones were racked and rechambered. Edwards rushed to Diaz who sweated and struggled to hold his palm to his neck. Blood oozed from the tactical gloved hand to his vest. Turning to the medic with urgency, Edwards's voice wavered.
"Bennings! Get over here now!" The soldier sprinted field pack in hand, unspooling a roll of gauze as he anxiously assessed Diaz.
"Shit She took a chunk out of his neck," Bennings exclaimed, baffled. "I don't understand how she-"
"Just bandage me up, doc." Diaz retorted through heavy quick breathing. Sweat seeped from his head, and blood trickled from the corners of his lips. His body quaked and shook as the field medic applied pressure to the wound. Edwards made his way towards Keegan who managed to weakly sit himself upright.
"Hang in there," Edwards assured his mate. Keegan weakly raised his head. His eyes were bloodshot and haunted.
"S-she was dead I swear," he gasped, his breathing escalating "I checked her pulse." Edwards focused on the critical situation, ignored his frantic friend, and hastily assessed the bleeding neck.
"Shit," he cursed under his breath. It was bad—real bad. Without swift medical attention, he'd bleed out.
"Hicks, we need to call an evac unit now. He's not gonna make it unless we—" Edwards began urgently, but his words caught in his throat as he turned to the squad leader.
In a moment of frozen fear, the commander wielded his pistol with both hands, .45 raised, aimed and squeezed the trigger. The pistol's suppressor released a muffled thwap as Keegan's head snapped back, falling heavily. Edwards's face paled, his heart sinking heavy.
"What are you-" Edwards attempted to exclaim, but Hicks, without missing a beat, turned with swift precision. The pistol aimed toward Diaz, who wearily raised a gloved, bloody hand to shield his face.
"Hey, wait—" Diaz began, his words interrupted as the round cut him off. Bennings staggered backward, his hands still entangled in bloody gauze, flabbergasted. The medic's horrified gaze fixated on the fallen man sprawled across the tile floor, while Hicks maintained his firearm posture, smoke wisping from the barrel. A heavy silence enveloped the scene until the distinctive sound of a racked chamber echoed behind Hicks. He turned, and his gaze met Edwards, who stood breathing frantically, rifle leveled at him.
"Lower your weapon," Hicks said in a cold and calm tone. "That's an order."
"You just gunned them down!" Edwards erupted. The rifle shook in his trembling arms. "We could've gotten them help. After all they've done for you..."
"You heard the briefing. Eliminate any possible contamination." Hicks declared, the sentence hanging ominously in the air. "Did you think that we were that exception? Our mission is simple... risks for further exposure MUST be avoided. At all costs."
Bennings watched as the two men faced each other off, blood pooling at their boots, glancing at his fallen members. His friends. Alive just seconds ago.
Hicks continued, "We don't have time for this. We still have an objective to finish, so right now, we need to complete what we're looking for and extract." He turned to Bennings, the cold stare cutting through the chaos. "You all know what you signed up for." He emphasized, "So did they."
Reholstering his pistol, Hicks strode purposefully toward the back of the room. "Ex-Unit 7, on me... now." His voice, a blend of ice and steel, carried an undeniable command that cut through the lingering tension. As the remaining members of the unit fell in line behind their leader, the weight of their unspoken understanding and the bitter taste of betrayal lingered in the air.
“Come on wait- wai-!” The freezer door slammed shut a hollow metallic clang, sealing me in with a rotating click. I leaned my head against the cold door, emitting a defeated thud, and released a pained sigh. I’m really starting to regret not calling in sick today. My hands were bound by orange baling twine, and I was almost completely naked, were it not for my pink flamingo briefs and converse. Could be worse, I though to myself.
In the frigid stillness of the ice box, a resounding SHINK sliced through the air, akin to metal meeting a razor’s edge. A numbing cold hugged my bones and sent my stomach flipping inside. As I slowly began to pivot, my eyes absorbed a sickening tableau-carcasses of cattle and pigs, suspended by heavy chains and piercing hooks. Amidst the unsettling display, a colossal figure appeared.
He towered at 6’5” and 300 lbs., the icy blue glow of the freezer light revealing his pale skin and bald head that rendered a looming silhouette. A massive hand raised above the figure, revealing a butcher knife that descended with a thick thunk, causing a pigs head to roll off the butcher’s table with a meaty hit of the cold concrete. At that moment sound, reason, and rationality had left my body. My poor flamingos suddenly became much warmer, and hyperventilation began to set in as I futilely shuffled backwards.
"Not much point in moving" Came a guttural growl from the butcher table. "They like to tie people's shoe laces together. It's cheap, but it makes harder to squirm I guess." Glancing down I observed the sadistic craftsmanship-an intricate knot shaped like a gift wrapped ribbon, entangled my shoes together. Who are these people?
The Butcher turned toward me and began to walk ever so slowly, his finger traced against the blade calculating its sharpness. "Fear not." he murmured "Just hold still and this will be all over before you know it." My heart beat faster but amidst the looming figure and gleaming butcher knife, I noticed an underwhelming current in my killer-was that boredom? A peculiar, unsettling boredom that resonated as just apart of his routine and it all felt so lazily scripted as if he had better things to do. Call me crazy but I could've sworn I just saw him yawn a little. To tell you the truth, I felt offended. Nevertheless, I was only seconds away from becoming just another butchered pig. If I wanted to get out of here alive, I had to think of something fast. The butcher knife ascended above the bald head and began to drop.
"Wait!" I pleaded throwing my bound hands in a feeble attempt to shield myself. I cracked one eye open, and found the blade hovering dangerously above my head, and in that moment, I locked eyes with my imminent killer. I expected eyes full of bloodlust or maniacal rage, but once again I was met with dull baggy orbs that afflicted nothing more than sheer boredom. It hurt my pride a little, but I wasn't gonna let it show.
"This isn't you." I confidently declared. His eyebrow arched and confusion flickered across his face.
"You're not some cold-blooded killer who sits in a dinky freezer all day waiting for orders to kill someone" I pressed on.
"I'm not?" His response held a note of genuine curiosity.
"No, of course not!" I replied, putting a touch of sympathy to my voice. "You're someone meant for the great outdoors, basking in the sun, using your unique talents for good—like, uh, working at a coffee shop! You don't have to butcher people."
A skeptical look crossed the butcher's face. "But I like butchering."
"No, you don't." I held a finger up. "You're just listening to what your farmer buddies are feeding you. Deep down, you're feeling, dare I say it,-bored?" I carefully chose my words gauging his expression. "Go on, tell me one thing you can't stand being here." His eyes were hard at thought and I could see him ponder the question.
"Well... Now that you mention it, it is pretty chilly here." He admitted.
"Right!" I exclaimed, seizing the opening.
"But," he added with a sly grin. "I just cut the skin off the things I butcher and wear it like a little coat. Keeps me nice and warm for a bit" He said in an amusement that clashed with the violence at hand, and I struggled to conceal the disgust and fear across my face.
"Okay uh-Dave?" I squinted at a haphazardly scrawled name tag on his bloody apron. "Dave there is a world of wonder and unexplored joy you have yet to experience, and I'm gonna show it you. You and me pal, friends exploring the world, and all the animals you could..." I hesitated, gulping, "...butcher."
"Friends?" I could see him ponder the concept.
"Yes, of course, friends. Come on, big guy, what do you say? How about we put down that eerie knife, hug it out, and then we can get out of this ice box."
All at once, time seemed to slow down.
For a fleeting moment, I saw Dave smile. Still holding the knife, he outstretched his arms in a friendly manner. Overwhelmed with excitement, I moved toward Dave the Bucher. Unfortunately, in the heat of the moment I had completely forgotten about my still constricted laces. My entire body careened into Dave, his massive frame pushed off balance, and the gleaming knife was thrown into a chaotic orbit. He hit the ground hard, knife hurling and gleaming in the air. As Dave sat up, anger etched in his face, fate took a sharp turn. With a thick ca-thunk, the knife found a resting place on the top of Dave's pale bald head. His face contorted, and slumped backward with a weighty thud.
I sat there in my urine-soaked pink flamingos, mouth agape in absolute awe. I really should've called in sick today.
