It appeared to me as though the man in the hoodie had flicked a tiny object in a straight line toward the back of the Arab man's head. In reality, I caught a glimpse of the bullet tearing into him. His head snapped forward as blood cascaded down the back of his head, soaking his white turban. He collapsed backward into his chair, which screeched as it slid a few inches backward. His head fell forward. His eyes closed. Forever.
The horror shook everyone from head to toe. Seconds later, chaos declared itself. People screamed and ran—some toward the doors which i believe was a bad idea.
Bang!
The second shot struck the doors. Cracks spidered across the surface, a testament to their strength. People recoiled.
A very bad idea indeed.
"Ladies and gentlemen, please return to your respective seats," the hoodie man said. The politeness and formality in his voice only intensified the terror. "If you do not bother me, I will not hurt you. I promise."
No one moved.
The bearded kid and the dark suit man stood closest to the doors. I hoped no thoughts of trying their luck to get out we're not possessing their minds.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the hoodie man continued, standing up, "let me set a few rules. Before I proceed, I order you to return to your respective seats. Now."
This time, people obeyed instantly—the coldness particularly in his final word demanded it.
As the dark suit man returned to his chair, he exchanged cold glances with the priest. During the chaos, he had carelessly and mercilessly stepped on the priest's shoulder while attempting to flee.
Like me, the priest had not moved. Critics often say I'm slow—that I linger over everything. Mah showed little agitation. The hijab woman seated closest to the hoodie man, merely gasped. That earned her my respect and admiration. I liked her, in whatever way you may think.
Others who showed bravery were the three men at the corner and an elegant lady in a dark-purple designer suit seated behind the bearded kid, accompanied by an old woman with dark hair. The latter had stood—but neither screamed nor ran.
"First rule!" the hoodie man barked. "You shall never separate yourself from your seat in the slightest manner."
I interpreted that as: do not lift your buttocks off the seat.
With his left hand, he lifted his plate of chips and salad. I managed to count twenty-three chips.
"Second rule: you shall not touch or use any information or communication device."
A pretty nurse seated at the first table of the third row immediately placed the phone she had been holding onto the table. The elegant woman glanced briefly at her silver watch—clearly a sophisticated smartwatch. The dark suit man tucked a transparent gadget into his breast pocket. The white EarPods had to remain in the bearded kid's ears for as long as it required. Not an issue he'd probably paused, or lowered the volume of, whatever he had been listening to.
"While only the waitress is exempt from these rules everyone should proceed with their business as if nothing has happened. as if a thug—armed and dangerous—is not watching you and is ready to put a bullet in your head if you break any of the rules."
He waved the pistol, "there are only two, pretty basic rules." he started walking. "anyone who fail to comply with these simple rules is too weak to share a room."
He approached the corpse and nudged it with the gun until it tumbled onto the floor beside the nurse. She shuddered violently.
My heart trembled. That was super cruel.
"Hey!" Mah exclaimed. It was the first time I'd heard his voice in a while.
"Abominable!" the priest cried out at the same time.
The thug smirked and sat on the previously Arab's seat.
"Why did you kill him?" The priest's voice trembled, "What's his offence to deserve such a brutal death and treatment? What's the reason?"
The priest's voice evolved into sobs. That incited sorrow in my heart.
"there are a thousand reasons to kill any of you in the most brutal ways," he waved the gun at us, "you are a senior believer and a senior religious leader. you should know very well that all have sinned. for the wages of sin is death."
"You have no right to judge," the priest replied coldly. "You are a sinner like everyone else."
The thug muttered and shook his head.
"Are the judges in your courts not sinners like everyone else too?"
The priest didn't answer. No one answered.
"You've made your own rules and chosen your judges," he said, leaning back. He tapped the table with the muzzle of his pistol. "In this room, I have made my rules. And I am the judge."
Until the police arrive, I thought, biting my lip. The guards must have heard the shots. The fact that none had intervened suggested they were either calling for help—or waiting. I knew, however, there was a chance I was wrong.
"You," the thug said, staring at Mah. "You spoke earlier. What do you have to say?"
"Not a big deal," Mah replied, lifting a forkful of steak. "I just felt terrible seeing you treating the corpse terribly. I reckon that is natural."
He placed the steak in his mouth and chewed, seemingly indifferent to the terror gripping the room.
That was when I snapped.
"No!" I shouted, letting the storm inside me burst. "It's terribly unfair. We all have sinned. Treating him as if he were the ultimate sinner is terribly unfair."
I changed in my position to face the hoodie man directly.
"Are you certain you will end up like him—or even worse?" the thug asked with a smirk.
"Not if I don't break your rules," I replied. "And you see—the old man didn't break any rules. They didn't exist yet."