Five Days Prior
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I have taken lot of lives till now.
Men... women... killers... innocents... and even children. I don't discriminate, all lives are equal to me.
Except rapists, of course. We all look at rapists as low-class, spineless vermin who don't understand the simple meaning of the word "no." And that is precisely why tonight's main course is a limbless scumbag, seasoned with sesame sauce and a dash of salt.
A muffled scream echoed through the hollow concrete of the abandoned warehouse.
"Fuck... let me go, you fucking basta—"
Slap.
I slammed heavy duct tape across his mouth.
"Shush... language. My mother always said swearing is bad," I chided gently.
"Don't worry, though... it'll all be over soon, buddy."
I turned back to the makeshift workbench, rummaging through the set of tools I'd borrowed from my friend Billy.
"Found it..." I sang under my breath, dragging out a massive, heavy-toothed woodcutting saw.
"Man... I still can't get used to the sheer weight of this thing."
I walked back over to the shackled man, giving his blood-drained cheek a stinging slap. "Don't move. You'll only hurt yourself."
I pulled a black mask over my face, stepped over to the tripod, and pressed record on the camera.
"Alright... Mister Michael D'Souza," I began, opening a Manila folder stamped with his name.
"Are you aware of why I've removed you from your busy schedule and brought you to an abandoned warehouse a hundred miles from any living soul?"
I skimmed the thick stack of police reports.
"Let's see... aggravated assault, rape, murder, hit-and-run... killing a guy with a stuffed animal? Wow. You really ran the whole spectrum, didn't you?"
Michael grunted frantically beneath the tape, his eyes wide with rising panic.
"Well, anyway..." I tossed the folder onto the cold floor. "You shouldn't have gone after those kids."
A dark smirk stretched across my face as I yanked a metal chain overhead. A basin tilted, pouring scalding, boiling oil directly over his bare chest and torso.
The tape ripped loose from his lips as Michael shrieked at the top of his lungs, a raw, primal sound of absolute agony and horror echoing off the rusted metal walls.
"Oh, dear. My apologies—I forgot oil wasn't on the recipe..." I murmured smoothly. "It's fine. We can adapt."
Reaching into a tub, I grabbed a handful of coarse salt and threw it directly into his fresh, blistering burns.
"You see, even in our world of monsters, there are lines you don't cross. Things even we find utterly despicable."
Michael's entire body trembled violently, his voice cracking as he sobbed. "No... Please don't! God, help me!"
"Already? Hah... well, you didn't stop when they begged you, did you?"
I set the jagged teeth of the wood saw against his thigh and began to push and pull. The blade bit deep into flesh and bone. Blood spilled over the edge of the metal table, splashing onto the floor in a heavy, dark puddle. Michael's shrieks grew deafening as I tore through muscle.
"When they begged you to stop..." I moved the saw faster, his body jolting violently with every stroke. "When they said no..."
I paused, grabbing another fistful of salt and grinding it into the half-severed leg before resuming the heavy sawing.
"When you get to the other side, tell your God that Aztec sent you."
The sound of his ragged, agonized choking was the hit of adrenaline I'd been craving for months. The pure terror in his eyes as I took my sweet time cleaving through his leg with every breath was intoxicating.
I want more...
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[BREAKING NEWS]
"Another body part belonging to high-ranking government official Michael D'Souza has been recovered today.
This marks the sixth piece found this month, confirmed to be the victim's head. Law enforcement has yet to identify any solid leads in his gruesome murder. However, investigators at the scene discovered massive spray-painted graffiti reading: 'YOU ARE NEXT,' accompanied by a detailed portrait of Colonel Grace Spencer..."
Click.
I shut off the television set. The man sitting at the bar counter paused, taking a slow sip of his coffee before looking up at me, annoyed. "Hey! I was watching that!"
"Enough with the crime news, Grey. I'm not in the mood for it," I said smoothly, continuing to wipe down the wooden counter with a damp rag.
"Yeah, Grey—don't you know what a wuss Jensen is?" Catherine chimed in with a loud laugh. She slammed her empty glass onto the wood. "Give me another beer!"
Drunkard.
Grey and Catherine were two friends I'd made long before I fully succumbed to the thrill of slaughter. They dropped by my bar regularly to blow off steam after long, exhausting days, completely oblivious that they were sharing drinks with a monster—a prolific serial killer who had watched dozens of lives fade into nothingness.
I tuned out as Grey and Catherine continued ribbing me about my supposed aversion to blood. My mind drifted back to the night I severed Michael's head... the heavy spray of crimson... the way his body finally went limp after a full month of torture... his shrieks whenever I rubbed salt into his open wounds.
I wondered if he had felt a sense of relief when death finally took him.
"I need a new toy..." I mumbled under my breath.
"A toy? For who?" Catherine asked, snapping me back to reality.
"Uh... for Lily," I covered quickly. "She broke the one I bought her last time."
Catherine gave me a suspicious glance. "It's weird seeing a cat play that hard."
"Indeed it is..." I muttered, averting my gaze.
Ring-ding.
The bell above the entrance chimed as the front door swung open.
"Welcome to Kalyva. What can I get for you?" I called out, looking up.
Standing in the doorway was a stranger—a woman with smooth hazel skin, voluminous dark curls, and sleek glasses. But behind those lenses were eyes that possessed no depth, no warmth, no emotion whatsoever.
She walked up to the counter, her dark gaze locked onto mine.
"Hello... Aztec. It's a pleasure to finally meet you."
Aztec.
The name I whisper only to my victims right before I slit their throats.
She knew who I was.