"Don't need to hunt—I'm here myself."
The cold voice cut through the silence.
The figure in a black outfit stood tall, his presence alone shocking everyone in the room. Their eyes widened, disbelief written across their faces.
"Why… why do you look like Tyler?" Raymond muttered, his voice breaking the tension.
Before anyone else could react, Max shot forward in a blur of motion. He slammed the stranger hard against the wall, pinning him with one arm.
"He asked you a question," Max growled. "Who are you? Some kind of clone? Why do you have that appearance?"
The man didn't resist. His tone was calm, almost mocking. "I'm not here to stir up trouble. I heard you were planning to hunt me down, so I saved you the trouble and brought myself here."
"Craig…" someone whispered. At that moment, they all realized who was speaking.
Timothy's eyes narrowed, his voice filled with fury. "How did you get here, Scythe?"
Pinned against the wall, the man smirked faintly. "I hate that name. And as for how… let's just say your security isn't as tight as you think."
Slowly, he reached for his face. With deliberate motion, he peeled off the mask clinging to his skin. The false features slid away, revealing the real face beneath.
The room froze in shock as the truth was laid bare before them.
Black hair tied back in loose ponytails. A face shadowed with weariness, almost depressed. And his eyes—dark, hollow, empty.
Tyler narrowed his gaze. "So this is what you really look like behind the mask."
"You still haven't answered my question," Timothy snapped, his fury still sharp.
Craig tilted his head, unfazed. "Why I'm here is simple—I'm tired of all this bullshit."
"Tired of what?" Timothy shot back.
"Tired of the killings. The endless atrocities. All of it." Craig's voice lowered, though his words carried weight. "Before coming here, I thought about it over and over again… and I realized I had no choice."
Jakson scoffed loudly, waving a hand. "Yeah, yeah—chatter, chatter. Quit bullshitting. No one here cares, and no one's gonna show you pity." He tapped his fingers together in a mocking gesture, the universal sign for talking too much.
"Pity?" Craig echoed with a faint smile. "You think that's why I'm here? I couldn't care less. No… this is about both sides."
"Both sides?" Layla's voice cut in, sharp and commanding. "Elaborate. And if it turns out this benefits only you… know this—you'll be cut down where you stand."
Craig met her gaze calmly, even with Max still holding him pinned. "Kill me, Hun, and you'll just make things worse. I hate to admit it, but… I hold a special place in his heart."
Timothy frowned, his thoughts racing. After a tense pause, he raised a hand toward Max. "Let him go. We'll hear him out."
Max reluctantly released his grip, and Craig stepped forward into the center of the room. Every eye followed him, the air thick with unease. Instead of striking or boasting, he simply lowered himself to the floor and sat cross-legged.
The room froze in surprise until Raymond broke the silence. "What the hell are you doing? Is this a joke to you?"
Craig brushed a strand of hair back, his tone light but deliberate. "Sheesh. God forbid a guy tries to sit and relax. I suggest you all do the same—we might be here a while."
Rudy's jaw tightened. "He can't be serious. We're actually playing to his rhythm now?"
"Vibe with the flow, Rudy. I'm pissed too, but let's see where this goes," Jakson muttered.
Layla rolled her eyes in irritation. One by one, though, everyone gave in—dragging chairs closer, each taking a seat. Their eyes never left Craig, waiting for what he would say next.
"My name is Craig Dowman," he began, his tone heavy but steady. "An offspring of an abusive father and a willful mother. Their names? Hogan Dowman—better known as the Abuser—and Tabitha Dowman. I had just one sibling: Dinah Dowman."
Raymond frowned. "How does this connect to what's happening right now?"
Craig lifted a hand, calm. "I know it sounds like I'm just giving you my life story. But listen—this is more than a pity tale. It's the foundation of everything."
He continued, his voice slow and deliberate. "My mother, Tabitha, after years of being beaten, finally broke. She left—ran away, abandoning her abuser and her two children. But who could blame her? No one can endure that forever."
His dark eyes lowered. "I was eight. My sister was five. Our father—Hogan—looked at us with nothing but disgust, calling us a curse. He drowned himself in alcohol, staggering home late, leaving us to starve. Days would pass with nothing to eat, until a kind neighbor slipped us food in secret. School? Forget it. He said we didn't deserve an education. Claimed he couldn't pay the fees, but truth was—he just didn't care."
Craig paused, brushing back his loose strands of hair. "Fast forward six years. I was fourteen. Dinah was eleven."
Jakson stifled a yawn, rolling his eyes. Rudy jabbed him in the ribs, muttering, "Pay attention." Jakson only gestured back a silent what?
Craig ignored them and pressed on.
"One rainy night… my sister was asleep on our couch. I sat by the door, waiting—hoping maybe our father would bring food. Instead, I heard him outside. Talking to someone."
Craig's voice grew colder, his tone almost detached. "I leaned against the door and listened. And what I heard… changed everything."
He mimicked the stranger's voice. 'Hey, you mean it?'
Then his father's, drunk and slurred. 'Damn right I mean it. Tomorrow she's yours. Do whatever you want with her—as long as I get the cash. You remember the price, don't you?'
The other man laughed under his breath. 'You drunken fool, you probably don't even remember the number I promised. Doesn't matter. That girl's pure. Untouched. I can't wait to taste her fruits.' His words dripped with hunger. 'Five thousand Cellies. The money's ready. Just bring her to me.'
Hearing this, Tyler felt a sharp sting inside his chest. It wasn't anger this time, but something deeper — pain. His eyes flickered, struggling to mask it, though the weight in his heart was plain for anyone who truly knew him.
The room grew heavy with silence. Every member of the squad wore the same expression, their faces twisted in distaste at Scythe's words. What he said didn't just strike at Tyler — it struck all of them.
Craig's fists clenched at the memory. "And my father… that bastard… he agreed. 'I'll be ready soon,' he said. *'Give me some hours, and she's yours.'"
Craig's jaw tightened as he recalled the moment. "I panicked. Rushed to the toilet, flushed it loud to make it seem like I'd been in there. Seconds later, the door creaked open and Hogan walked in."
He mimicked his father's gruff tone. 'This one's asleep,' he said, glancing at Dinah. 'But soon, freeloaders… soon you'll both be out of my life.' He stumbled off toward his room."
Craig's voice dropped to a whisper, filled with rage and despair. "I just stood there… trembling. Fear and hatred eating at me. But deep down, I knew. I'd always known this day would come. A day where it would be him or us."
His eyes narrowed, and his final words cut like a blade. "And I swore to myself, right then: Tonight, I kill that Fucker."