I thought I'd seen my fair share of villains, but this one… he's different. He's insane—a true madman.
Timothy raised his head, his voice cutting through the silence. "What's your gain if I kill these people?"
Al-daeem rubbed his chin, golden eyes glinting with cruel amusement. "My gain? Hmmm… let's just say I want you to suffer. To bear the cross of knowing you slaughtered them."
Timothy said nothing, his body rigid, mind drowning in the madness of it all.
Al-daeem leaned forward, his tone almost admiring. "I commend your strength. Hours ago, you fought those inexperienced fools and handled your so-called family matters… and now, here you stand, ready to do this. You're a real man."
"Boss," Jean chimed in, tilting her head, "he's not listening. He looks frozen."
Al-daeem's smile widened. "Don't worry, dear. He's fine. Probably just thinking about how he's going to do the job." His gaze returned to Timothy, sharp and mocking. "If you're ready, you may begin. We'll be here… watching as spectators."
His eyes went hollow. He took a step forward—then froze, his thoughts racing like cars on a highway.
Why did my body move? I will never kill the innocent; it's happening again like that day.
Why does my body instinctively want to kill? What the hell is wrong with me?
His vision slowly cleared, and he looked down at his hands, weariness etched across his face. He closed his eyes, exhaling heavily. The calm, authoritative voice of Al-daeem called to Timothy:
Don't just stand there; go do what you need to do. Remember I asked you to butcher them; don't go knocking them out. His voice shifted, laced with madness, a maniacal smile carved across his face as he muttered, just loud enough for Timothy to hear, "Their limbs, their heads, their blood—perfect decorations."
A golden car raced up the entrance lane and parked with a sharp stop. Al-daeem noticed it—looked at his wristwatch, shocked by the time, and said to Jean. "Seems like we've spent enough here; it's time to leave. So sad we won't be able to watch it live."
The two got up ready to leave; they passed by Timothy, who was still frozen on the spot. As they got to the exit, Al-daeem waited, and he said,
I still have a few minutes to say some things. Slinger I'm so happy you'd be the one to kick off phase two. Phase one was the Zoo Catastrophe; phase two will start from here as the Mass Slaughter, and then we hit phase three. He let out a cheerful sigh, smiling at Timothy; his face lit up like he remembered something. Sorry on my part, I forgot to tell you they are not regular pigs; they are wild ones—boars. They'd be coming at you with the same intent."
The doors of the exit opened. Jean slipped out, and Al-Daeem trailed behind. Just before leaving, he turned, his voice dripping with scorn. "Put on a good show for me. And tell everyone… the Retribution is coming."
Timothy could only watch; he broke free from his frozen spot and dashed to the exit. He shouted:
Al-daeem, or whatever your name is, I swear I'll make you suffer the same way; mark my words."
Al-daeem, who was already entering the car, turned smiling and yelled back. "Alright, Slinger, that's the spirit; show me what you got."
He got into the car, and it sped off.
Timothy faced back to the restaurant, closing the doors and dropping the curtains. Slowly everyone seated got up; in their hands were knives, bats, and all the dangerous weapons they could use to defend themselves. They all had the same lifeless expressions, and their movements were unified—they stood, not attacking yet. Timothy got up close to one of them; still nothing.
He thought:
Does he want me to just kill them, without them fighting back? No, that can't be true; he's too crazy for something that simple.
He left for the kitchen, scanning the whole place, and picked up a machete. As he went back outside, he said some words:
"If I have to kill to protect my own, I'll become selfish for that, even if it means I lose a bit of my humanity."
[Narrator]:
Are you letting go of a bit of your humanity or letting loose a piece of your madness? Which one, Tim?
He walked back into the room—the sight of him with a weapon activated the mind control in them, and they hurled at him like a mob. He smirked, "Knew something was the trigger."
The first coming at him was a teenager holding a pocket knife; he wasted no time. The machete went through the neck, offloading the head from the shoulders. Another came hurling a chainsaw at him—he dodged and ripped through the skin, cutting off the hand holding the chainsaw. The wails from the chubby man were loud, but the outside won't even hear it; the restaurant was soundproof. He picked up the chainsaw, driving it through the bodies of two at once. He drop-kicked a woman—stomping her head to the floor. The blood splashed on his face, and he spat out the little that got to his mouth.
This went on for a while; it took him thirty minutes to kill everyone in the restaurant, a total number of one hundred and eighty-nine, excluding the one who remained, waiter Arjun. To Timothy's surprise, Arjun wasn't under any influence; he begged the murderous Timothy, but he didn't answer.
"Please, sir, I was just doing what I was told; spare me. I don't know who that is; I just did as he said because he threatened me."
Timothy crouched, his body covered in blood, the machete in his hands, his face having no expression, he said. "That's the reason why I'd kill you; if I let you live one way or the other, you'd go blabbering this to someone. Can you keep what you saw as a secret for the rest of your life?"
Arjun's pale, apologetic face tightened, and he hesitated—stuttering even. "I-I can."
Timothy said to him. "You see, you hesitated. I have no choice."
Arjun's face brightened in fear as he pleaded. "No, please, I beg you." The next thing he saw—probably not—was the punch coming from Timothy that went through his stomach; blood poured out from his mouth. Timothy slowly pulled his hands out. He stood up, scanning the whole place. The heads and the torsos and blood everywhere, as Al-daeem said. He walked out to the back to get to his motorcycle.
****
Moments later.
"Are you okay, sir?" An official who saw him walking into the building said, "Before he knew it, more came swarming around him," he could only say. "Nothing happened."
They didn't even let him pass through to go up the floors; the blood began to dry, and some dripped from him. One official had called the commander to come see the situation at the lobby.
She arrived, making her way towards him. Layla was shocked to see his state; she barely could see his eyes, she said.
"Timothy, who did this to you?"
He answered nonchalantly. "Oh, don't worry; this isn't my blood."