Murmurs erupted across the building. The weight of his words struck deep—so much so that even the commander herself stood in a state of confusion.
Her inner voice muttered:
What is he saying? No… it can't be. He's not that kind of man… is he? I need to get him out of here before this spirals.
[Narrator]:
Oh, Layla. If only you knew; you won't believe what he's going to tell you.
She tilted her head, flashing a signal with her eyes to Johnathan, who was by her side. He understood the signal; without wasting more time, he moved forward—his voice aloud.
"Everyone move away from the man; the commander will speak to him personally. We'll let you know the outcome, so you all should clear."
The officials all parted to both sides aligned, leaving Timothy to walk through. Eyes were on him as he walked, cautious and worried faces, and some gossipers whispering to themselves; he paid no attention to them.
He got to Layla and Johnathan and asked.
"Where are my guys?"
Layla answered. "They're upstairs—they've been waiting for you."
"Back already? Not surprising… but still, it's good to hear." Timothy said.
The elevator opened, and they got in it. As it moved, he told Layla,
I'll be dropping by my floor first; I have to go wash up first and will join you all shortly.
She replied. "Okay."
Timothy left the elevator; the other two watched him as the doors closed. Johnathan, who was worried as well, sighed, saying. "It just keeps getting worse, doesn't it? What could have happened?"
With her arms crossed, green eyes up, and fixed at the top of the elevator, her soft voice could only say. "Can't process anything; let's just hope it's not something we can't handle."
"I pray so." Johnathan added.
****
Layla and Johnathan got back to her office; the boys had waited so long for Timothy to come, but as the doors opened, they were surprised to not see Timothy with them.
"I thought you said he was downstairs; where is he?" Raymond asked.
Layla answered while she walked to her seat.
"He went to wash up."
"Wash up?" Larry repeated, eyes narrowing in confusion. "Didn't he already come back earlier?" He trailed off, trying to piece it together.
The man by her side, Johnathan, replied for her.
"You see… he came back drenched in blood."
The words hit them, and all three shot to their feet, voices overlapping with concern.
"What happened to him? Why was he covered in blood? Was he mugged?"
"He's fine. At least that's what he said." Johnathan answered.
The scene cut to Timothy in the bathroom.
The shower poured over him, washing his body clean, though his thoughts remained stained. His eyes were shut. Slowly, they opened—and all he saw was red. For a moment, it seemed as if he stood in a pool of blood. He didn't move, only stared down at the water. Deep inside, he knew it wasn't blood… but his guilty mind was painting tricks across his vision.
The voices in his head rose, challenging him—taunting, accusing, whispering things he didn't want to hear.
You finally snapped, didn't you? I knew you were crazy.
How could you? You loved it, freak.
You're not even human anymore; you are just a killing machine.
He could only say,
No matter what you all say, I was just being human. The only guilt I have was not putting that guy six feet under.
Just then a low feminine voice whispered in his ears.
Don't listen to them. you are who you are and I love you that way.
He answered the voice. "If only you were here."
Meanwhile, in the commander's office, the others sat in uneasy silence, waiting for Timothy.
"Could you please switch on the TV?" Layla politely asked.
Johnathan picked up the remote and switched on the TV. The screen flickered to life, landing on a news station. At first, the footage was blurry—shaky camera work capturing indistinct shapes. But as the shot steadied and zoomed out, the image became clear: a restaurant, swarmed by a restless crowd. Police officers struggled to hold the line, trying to coordinate the chaos.
Layla got up on her feet, her eyes fixed on the screen.
Could this be what Timothy did?
"Turn up the volume, please." She said.
The volume was raised. The voice of the newscaster was sharp:
"Breaking news Ultra City, this hasn't been a good day at all. We had superhuman problems earlier today, and now we just found out people had died brutally. The information we got was the owner of the restaurant wanted to visit, but as he opened it, he saw blood everywhere and bodies lying on the ground. The people who saw it couldn't explain the horror of it all. We can't show it on live television, but what we can say is it's bad, really bad.
The words sank into them. The explanation was grim, and each of their minds leapt to the same name—Timothy.
Larry questioned. "He couldn't, could he?
The newscaster voice said again:
We just heard that a total number of nearly two hundred people were killed in the building, and for those wanting to see, we were ordered to show the scene for about ten seconds.
The scenery was horror; the blood splatter covered the blue-colored restaurant heads and torsos apart, and the nurses and emergency unit were busy trying to put together the body parts of each body.
Raymond found himself questioning his own thoughts.
What's going on in this city? The more we look into its troubles, the more they worsen, and now the commander says Timothy came back all bloody. It shouldn't be what I'm thinking.
Layla's voice cut in the silence. "It's him. Her voice sounded sharp. It's Timothy, but why?"
Derick's face held a frown; his voice had anger, not worry about the situation. "You're saying that he killed that many people."
"Yes. It's what he can do." She answered.
Derick yelled. "Then he's a murderer—a mass murderer. He got up from his seat, ready to move towards the elevator.
Raymond shouted. "Wait, Derick, he might have his reasons; he's not someone to do something irrationally."
Larry added. "Ray is right. I've known him for a while now; he won't do this without reason, and we are not even sure if he did it; it's still a speculation."
"But you just heard—"
Derick's words were cut by the sound of the elevator doors opening. Timothy came out looking fresh but with a low look. His eyes caught the TV; he read the headline and said.
"You've found out good—less explanation on that part."