"Please, spare my life! I beg you!"
The man's voice trembled as he fought against the chains binding him to the chair. Sweat ran down his face, mixing with tears. His heart pounded hard in his chest, but the chair didn't move and the chains only tightened.
"Shut it, you worthless piece of trash!"
Natzy's voice echoed through the cold basement, sharp and dripping with hatred.
The basement was dark, and the only light inside came from a torch burning in the corner. Its flames flickered across the walls, stretching her shadow in every direction. And beneath the fire, a blade glowed faintly.
"I don't want to die," the man whispered, his voice cracking. "Please..."
Natzy stepped closer, her boots made a low, heavy sound on the concrete floor. She wore worn-out jeans and a dark hooded cloak that hid most of her face.
"Do I look like someone who would grant you mercy?" she asked quietly.
His fear twisted into sudden anger. "Who are you? Why should I beg you? You're just a woman!"
Natzy didn't answer, but her hand moved fast.
The blade cut through his shoulder in one clean merciless strike.
He screamed, the sound bouncing off the basement walls.
Blood dripped to the floor.
"Too loud for a scoundrel," Natzy muttered, wiping her dagger on his shirt.
The man's strength began to fade. And he breathed hard before lifting his eyes to her.
"Who are you... Really?" he whispered.
"Natzy," she said. "Natzy Ziam."
His eyes narrowed. "Who the hell is that supposed to be?"
She looked at him for a moment before she spoke. "I'm the country's psychopathic executioner."
His eyes widened as realization hit him. "What?" He whispered.
Natzy gave a small, cold smile. "Now you remember your crimes."
"What crimes? I didn't..."
"You had a wife and two daughters," she said, her voice was flat.
"While they struggled to pay for food, you spent your salary on your mistress. When your wife confronted you, you beat her in front of your children. Then you abandoned them and moved in with that woman."
His face went pale. "That's not illegal..."
"Your youngest daughter is eight. She hasn't been to school in six months because you stopped paying. Your wife works three jobs now." Natzy's eyes hardened.
"And last week, you posted vacation photos with your mistress while your daughter begged for help online."
"Please..." the man started, but she cut him off.
"Stop begging. Stay quiet, and maybe I'll grant you a merciful death."
He swallowed hard. "Death? A... merciful death? It's still death," he whispered weakly.
"Of course it is."
"You're not... You are not going to brand me, are you?"
Natzy's expression stayed blank. "That's my signature."
The man's eyes filled with terror as she turned toward the fire. She reached into the flames and pulled out the dagger, now glowing red-hot.
"No, no, please!" he screamed.
Natzy walked closer until the heat of the blade touched his skin. "So, shall we begin?" she asked softly, then raised the dagger, and then...
"ARRGHHH!"
His scream filled the basement.
***
A week later, after stalking her next target in silence, she finally learned where he spent his evenings until midnight, and planned carefully how to reach him and carry out her tenth kill.
It had to be tonight.
She had already imagined how she would celebrate after taking down another scumbag.
The club was a dimly lit, pulsing hellhole, the kind of place that made Natzy's skin crawl. Neon lights cast an eerie glow over the sweaty faces of the crowd. Their bodies moved to the relentless beat like mindless puppets. The air was thick with the mix of cheap and expensive perfumes.
Natzy sat alone at a corner table, scanning the crowd with calm detachment. She blended into the shadows like a chameleon. Her rugged clothes and hooded cardigan made her nearly invisible.
The hood cast a shadow over her features, hiding her face, but her eyes still glinted with a cold, sharp look.
She glanced at her wristwatch. An hour had already passed.
'He's supposed to be here,' she thought, her jaw tightening. 'This is the time he always shows up.'
She needed to root out every cheater, every betrayer across the country, and even the world if she had to. They must all pay for their crimes.
"I wouldn't be here if not for what they did. They must be executed, every last one of them," she muttered through clenched teeth.
Then suddenly, the crowd near the entrance shifted, and her eyes locked onto him.
There he was. Marcus Reid. Thirty-six years old. Married for twelve years with two sons. And completely, shamelessly in love with his secretary.
He walked in wearing an expensive suit, his arm wrapped around a woman in a tight red dress. She laughed at something he said, her hand resting possessively on his chest.
Natzy's fingers curled around her glass. 'With someone who isn't his wife.'
She'd done her research thoroughly. His wife, Catherine, was a soft-spoken kindergarten teacher who believed her husband worked late every night. The woman clinging to Marcus now was Jessica; twenty-four, ambitious, and completely unaware that Marcus had promised her marriage "as soon as the divorce is finalized."
Except he'd never filed for divorce. He had no intention of leaving his family. He just wanted both lives.
Natzy watched them settle into a booth across the club.
Marcus ordered champagne. Jessica leaned in close, whispering something that made him grin.
'Perfect,' Natzy thought, shifting to move closer and wait for the right moment to follow him out.
But then the club door opened again.
And Catherine Reid walked in.
Natzy's eyes widened slightly. 'What is she doing here?'
Catherine looked around nervously, clutching her purse. She was dressed simply, in jeans and a cardigan, looking so different from the club's usual crowd. Her eyes scanned the room, searching.
Then she saw him.
Her face crumpled instantly.
Marcus hadn't noticed her yet. He was too busy feeding Jessica a strawberry from his champagne glass, laughing.
Catherine stood frozen near the entrance, her hands trembling.
'This is about to get interesting,' Natzy thought, leaning forward.
Catherine began walking toward them, her steps shaky but determined. People moved out of her way, sensing the storm coming.
"Marcus," she said, her voice barely audible over the music.
Marcus's head snapped up. The color drained from his face. "Cathy? What... what are you doing here?"
"I came to surprise you," Catherine said, her voice breaking.
"You said you were working late again. But Sarah told me she saw your car parked here, and I... I didn't believe her. I told her she was wrong."
Jessica looked between them, confusion dawning on her face. "Who is this?"
"I'm his wife," Catherine said, tears streaming down her face now.
Jessica pulled away from Marcus like she'd been burned. "His what?"
"Baby, I can explain..." Marcus started, reaching for Jessica.
"Don't touch me!" Jessica snapped, standing up abruptly.
"You said you were divorced!"
"I am! I mean... it's complicated..."
"You're wearing a wedding ring!" Jessica shouted, pointing at his hand.
Marcus glanced down at his hand as if he'd forgotten it was there. The panic in his eyes was delicious.
"You told me you loved me," Catherine whispered.
"You said we'd work through our problems. You said..."
"Cathy, not here. Let's go outside and talk..."
"No!" Catherine's voice rose, stronger now.
"I'm done talking. I'm done believing your lies. I'm done!"
She yanked off her wedding ring and threw it at his chest. It bounced off and clattered onto the table.
Jessica grabbed her purse. "You're disgusting," she spat at Marcus before storming toward the exit.
"Jessica, wait!" Marcus called after her, but she was already gone.
He turned back to Catherine. "Cathy, please..."
"I want a divorce," she said quietly. Then turned and walked away, her shoulders shaking.
Marcus stood there, alone in the booth, his lies died in under five minutes.
The crowd had gone quiet, watching. Then slowly, the music swelled again and people returned to their dancing, the drama already forgotten.
But Natzy didn't move. She watched Marcus slump back into his seat, his head in his hands.
'His world just ended,' she thought. A cold, bittersweet satisfaction filled her chest.
But then her eyes narrowed. 'That's not enough.'
He would recover from this. Men like him always did. He'd find another woman to manipulate, and another family to destroy. Public humiliation wasn't justice.
It was only embarrassment.
Marcus suddenly stood, grabbed his coat, and headed for the back exit, moving fast.
'Running away like the coward he is,' Natzy thought, rising from her seat.
She had to move quickly. This was her chance.
As she headed toward the exit, a drunk man staggered into her path. A young girl in a school uniform struggled to support him.
"Watch it," the man slurred, even though he'd been the one who bumped into Natzy.
"I'm sorry, miss. My dad is drunk," the girl said quickly, bowing her head.
Natzy's eyes flicked to her briefly. 'A minor, this late.' But she didn't have time for distractions.
"Dad, we should go. Mom's waiting," the girl said softly, guiding him toward the exit.
"Home is good regardless," the man mumbled sadly as they passed.
Natzy pushed past them, her focus locked on the back exit where Marcus had disappeared.
She burst through the door into the back alley. It was empty, except for a few dumpsters and a flickering streetlight.
No sign of Marcus.
'Damn it.'
She'd lost him.
Frustration boiled in her chest. She'd been so close. Watching his humiliation had been satisfying, but it had also cost her the kill.
She walked out of the alley and onto the main street, her hands clenched into fists.
'I'll find him again,' she told herself. 'He can't hide forever.'
But the anger still simmered. The thought of him out there, free, planning his next lie, his next betrayal...
'I wonder how they do it,' she thought bitterly. 'How do they wake up saying "I love you" and "I miss you" to different people at the same time? How do they sleep every night without guilt?'
Her thoughts drifted to Donovan. To the promises he'd made. To the life she'd thought they were building together. And her late father...
All lies.
'It will never repeat itself,' she told herself firmly. 'Not to anyone else. Not if I can stop it.'
She took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm inside her. The street was eerily quiet now. No cars. No people. Only flickering streetlights and empty sidewalks which she found strange, but didn't think much of it.
The air felt different. Heavy.
She needed to clear her head.
Then, suddenly, an old silent bus appeared from nowhere, trailing behind her slowly and steadily.
'What's wrong with that driver? Why is he following me?' she wondered, trying to ignore it.
Then the bus rolled forward and stopped directly in front of her.
The door opened by itself, and there was no driver.
Natzy's eyes widened.
'What in the world... how is this happening?' Curiosity tugged at her.
As if something was pulling her in, she stepped forward, slow and cautious, wanting to know why the bus had stopped for her.
The moment she stepped inside, the doors sealed shut.
* * *