Damn, I've been busy and will be busy on Halloween, but I'll try to get the last chapter done tomorrow in time. I'm so close I'm gonna cry.

Man the temptation to change the bad guy to Jeremy Hunt is too strong.

...

He did not know how long he'd been out, but when he woke up the sky was orange and he could take a wild guess. Stelios' nose ached, thick and swollen and probably bruised, and the floor under him was far too cold and uncomfortable against his stomach. He was still on the roof, air cold through his thin uniform, now ripped and stiff with blood. Everything ached and he was half-tempted just to fall back asleep.

The evening sky was only the third thing Stelios noticed though. The second being that he was tied up by the wrists and ankles, and the first that that strange human was looming over him, glaring down in interest.

Stelios shrank back, trying to hide his fear and not give the bastard the satisfaction of hearing him beg for his life.

He was going to die here, right?

This masked being didn't start talking though, no gloating, no threats, just stared down at him, giving the occasional silent chuckle. Those eyes were hard to pull away from, no humanity left, but more intelligence than the average zombie. He didn't smell undead either- oh boy Stelios would never forget that smell- but he could have always been a more advanced zombie. Stelios didn't know the biology behind zombies, because he'd not thought them real, having been raised a normal, rational human being, but he supposed it was possible. Anything was possible now, Stelios decided. Screw everything he'd grown up knowing.

Was this freak going to start talking? Because man he had a lot of explaining to do.

Hoping that maybe this was a good guy who was a little socially awkward, Stelios decided to strike up a conversation.

"Hi there," he began, deciding it was best to ignore the break in his voice- and spirit-, "um, you must be new here. In fact, I have no clue who you are."

No reply.

"Oh boy," sighed Stelios. "That was your cue to tell me your name."

The stranger glared at him, as if wondering how Stelios was even daring to speak. Then he shrugged.

"Can you tell me if you're responsible for this?" He wasn't expecting an answer, but it didn't hurt to try.

To his surprise, the stranger nodded.

"So you killed all these innocent people?" So this is what searing red rage felt like. Mixed with fear, it felt dangerous, unstable.

Another nod.

"Are you going to tell me why?" His voice was thin, lethal.

The stranger shook his head.

"You're lucky these cable ties are holding me back!" he screamed, "why don't you untie me so I can beat you to hell and back fair and square?"

The stranger jiggled his shoulders, laughing silently once more. Stelios tried to headbutt his feet, but he just stepped out of the way.

"What? You scared?"

No reply. This prick was going to give him a hernia.

"Can you even talk?" he demanded.

The stranger nodded.

"Well why don't you?" cried Stelios, "since you're being honest and giving me fucking answers, why don't you open your Goddamn mouth? Tell me why you killed my friends! Speak, you bastard!"

And he did. The stranger let out a deep, raspy laugh right from the back of his throat. It was a cruel laugh, mocking Stelios in his frustration and helplessness, mask grinning down at the pathetic ant at his feet.

The worst thing was Stelios recognised that voice, but he couldn't quite place it. It was on the tip of his tongue, on the verge of driving him insane.

"Where did this temper come from, my dear little brother?"

And with that, the stranger ripped off his mask to reveal a calm, smiling Heracles.

...

Dun dun duuuuuuun. If you guessed Heracles, fuck you. Not really, but damn I thought I did a good job of keeping it secret. If you didn't, you're kicking yourselves, aren't you? Told it was shitty and cliche.

So yeah, one more chapter to go, and all will be revealed about, well, why. I'm almost sad to see this story come to an end. But then again, it feels so damn good to finally finish a fic for the first time in two years.