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Part 1: The Suits
Dark eyes carefully watch the man stumble across the room, a slave to more than just them. Blood leaks out of his left leg, something that is long broken. He grunts with each movement, as each step brings his left leg down to the floor. The room that surrounds him is dark and undefined to him, but the room feels small and hidden away. There's an aura in the air that gives a sense that no matter how loud he screams, only the men in the room already will hear him.
"Why?" His voice slithers its way out of his throat, carry blood with it. The blood splatters on the floor and joins the blood from the million of other victims that he, himself, had trapped here. Death was his business, it was his life, and nothing seemed to want to stop him from letting anything like this happen. He used to lock them in the closed confined space of this room together, several people at a time, and would wait six weeks before going back in and taking out the rotting corpses. He would replace the bones after the rest of the body would finish decomposing. This was what his job was, a mass murderer.
But things were seeing change, it seems. The hunter had become the hunted, and now suffered a worse fate than he would have ever imagined. He only ever imagined a quick death, or jail. The ones who hired him were the ones who controlled who went in and out of the jails. In every case, he would have been fine. Too many men, woman, and children had died in his care; it was time that they ended his spree. No longer was he needed to wipe the scum off the face of the earth.
The men stay quiet, wearing their expensive suits. Men known across the world and yet unknown to all. Men who can do what ever they please, where ever they please, and get away with it. The world is at their finger tips; this pathetic excuse for a man is just another pebble under their feet. A click echoes through the empty room, followed by a ear-shattering bang. With a bullet in his torn leg, the man collapses.
"You've crossed us, maggot." One of the men say. The darkness shrouds them, concealing their numbers. The words bounce and echo through the room, colliding with the injured man.
"John Mason, son of Jeffrey Thomas Mason, you have been ending the lives of the innocent for far too long. The council has decreed that in return, you must die a long painful death. Soon the loss of blood will knock you unconscious, but that will not save you." John Mason looks up to the men, or where he thinks the men are. Shock overtakes him and his head begins to feel light. Knowing that soon he will no longer be conscious, he attempts to speak in response.
"Innocent?" He says, barely audible. Every breath is dreadfully hard, stopping him from getting very many words out. "But they told-" An absolute darkness takes over and he collapses to the floor, unconscious.
Part 2: The Wakening
Where am I? John Mason thinks to himself as his eyes open to the world around him. The dark room, his dark room, has faded away and he now finds himself hidden in the sunlight, hidden to none but himself. His pale skin glows in the unfamiliar light and his light green eyes burn like they were on fire. All he sees before shutting his eyes again is the light, nothing else. He tries to move, initially believing that he would be chained to the soft bed underneath him. But no chains bind him to the resting place of his glowing white body. Foot steps can be heard, coming from outside of the small room he lies in.
The room consists of a one window wall, parallel to the door, bright ceiling lights, and a confused man in a hospital bed. John Mason wasn't dead, he wasn't even close to death. The Suits brought him to the hospital after he passed out, and something inside of him knows it. Deep down, he might understand it, but on a conscious level, he knows nothing. His head spins as he moves his leg, fully healed. His eyes slide open, and he bears the pain of the light on his eyes. A small calendar of sorts hangs on the wall across from him. It's been six months? He yells in his mind, six months gone like they were never there.
What brought him here? Better question, why did they bring him here? The door opens and his head turns to the right to see who it is. A nurse of about his age walks in, with someone following her. "Oh, you're awake." The nurse says, sounding surprised that he was awake at all. She was not a believer in his survival, hell, John wasn't even one. But there is a reason why they kept him alive, a reason far beyond the usual reasons. The men in suits are long gone now, having finished their part in his story.
John nods slightly at her and peers around her to see the visitor. A woman of about his age (around 25 or 30), stood behind the nurse and was a fine specimen for her age. That's how he would describe it, but most men would say she is beautiful. With long brown hair and stunning green eyes and a face that looks like it was carved by angels, it's easy to see what they mean. The woman walks up to the side of the bed and looks back at the nurse, nodding at her. In a matter of seconds, the nurse disappears through the open door.
"Hello, John Mason. I'm sure you're wondering who I am." She pauses and looks out the window, where the majority of the light radiates from. "My name is Julia Hassan. I was sent here to give you something." She says without taking her eyes off of the world outside of the window. She stares out the window like it's all that matters. John looks up at her curiously, with his head spinning like a top. No matter what comes now, he's still surprised he's alive and not feeling any pain at all. But at the same time a small suspicion grows in his stomach.
“It's...” He begins to say, surprised that his voice works at all. “It's a pleasure to meet you.” He sits up and looks at the table that stands beside his bed. A pair of blue jeans and a basic yellow t-shirt lie folded on top of it. He'll be out of here soon. Turning his head towards Julia, he lets a smile break across his face. He's free, he's safe. Nobody was going to harm him anymore. This was the ultimate realization that he suffered before she pulled a letter out of her pocket.
“They told me to give this to you.” She tells him, not knowing what might lie inside of the letter. He took it from her and opened it immediately. In the world outside the window, a dark cloud creeps over the deep blue sky, consuming the innocence that once was there. Julia recognizes the cloud like an old friend, and a saddened look crosses her face. “Not another thunderstorm.” She says, sounding incredibly disappointed. “I was supposed to go on a picnic today.”
Everything Julia had said goes in one of John's ears and out the other. His face, frozen in place, stares at the letter in horror. Julia doesn't realize that he might have stumbled across something dark, darker than the clouds that dared to approach the building. The lightning dances around inside of the thunderclouds, readying itself for the attack. “Time is running short...” John says, disconnected from the real world. He isn't talking to Julia, but more to himself. In a perceptual state of shock, he sits there, lost to the world. His world is still vivid and alive, but the clouds invade his world as well; the end draws near.
“Oh don't worry about it, John. It's just a thunderstorm.” Julia tells him before looking back at him and realizing that he is not in this world at all. Any and all words that she'll say will not be heard. “John?” She begins to panic a little, what could have caused such a reaction? It was just a letter, after all. The letter slips from his hands and she hesitates before bending over and picking it up. Her eyes quickly reads through the letter and the letter floats to the ground after she is done. A hand creeps up to her mouth, and she reaches out with her other hand, looking for something to support her.
“They're going to kill everyone here, not just me...” He mutters to himself repeatedly. His world begins to spin around him and an earthquake shakes his mind; it's the end of it all. Despite being the hand of destruction for so long, he feels this feeling surfacing from a place he had forsaken many years ago, a need to save them. He doesn't believe, deep down inside, that his mistake should be the end of so many more people. A thousand souls, bearing a thousand pounds each, already rest upon his small shoulders. Now he can feel the anguish of all those souls, weighing down the man they once called Death. His back begins to buckle under the weight, one more soul will kill him, yet alone a million or more. Could he flee the attack and save himself? Or will he be stuck here, fighting to try and stay alive?
Part 3: The Attack
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Actually, I think I'll end it there for now and post the rest later. Well that's all for me, off to go do school work!
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