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MALCOLM

"i'm not afraid of God; I'm afraid of men."

- mariana and the diamonds, savages

[hour one]

MALCOLM DOESN'T EXPECT himself to be hiding in a stall for the remainder of the day. Or, more specifically, a bathroom stall in the mall. Earlier that day his older half-sister and mom purposefully went earlier that day to go look for dresses for senior prom, and he is stuck here.

They completely forgot him, he notes with satire. It's not like it's anything bad, though, because he's completely comfortable with being alone. But before he thinks that he should leave, his phone is buzzing.

Knowing how his family rarely texts him, he automatically assumes it's someone from his school who wants answers for their homework. He grumbles but he doesn't ignore it so he could feel less lonely. Taking out his phone from his pocket, he types in his password and watches a video someone sent him on his phone.

The confusion is muted as his heartbeat quickens, the words magnifying in his ears as he processes the information. The libretto is long as it is torturing and already he feels bile rising in his throat. The Purge…The Purge…

He just thought it was a rumor. Some falsely put lie. Cleverly done. But now he thinks about it even more, and America may seem sinisterly strange…and people in Greece warned him — but he ignored them.

He didn't like people tricking him or 'warning' him, as he put it. He doesn't like being frightened, though, and the idea was frightening. So he pushes it off, ignores it and shuns it. Until right now, he's facing it like a monster with enormous sharp, dragging teeth that trudges against his skin and—

Sirens. There's loud blaring sirens that ring in his ears. He realizes that this is what signals the Purge and his fear increases superficially as he struggles to breathe. But he can't scream — don't scream, he chides himself, shaking violently in the stall.

Why is his family ignoring him? What's happening? He tries to rationalize it but at the moment all he can come up with is hysteria.

There's gunshots ringing in his ears and with shock he realizes that there's screams. Someone is banging against the stall door, supposedly surprised that it's locked and slumps against it. Glass shatters and a bullet is shot, glorified with the scream that leaves their lips.

With shock, he climbs up the toilet as blood pools out beneath him, a head falling down on the ground making a sickeningly loud cracking sound. He hears people stomping over and they start to preach, their voices maddeningly equal in a chorus: "We thank our Lord for allowing us to cleanse ourselves and allowing us to Purge."

Americans, he decides, are insane.

But they bring a violent shudder erupting down his spine as he begins to breathe erratically. Bringing his hand to his mouth, he struggles not to make any noise as more gunshots erupt in the air.

The mirrors shatter loudly and the corpse is dragged, much to his horror, up the stall as they hang it up gleefully. A shrill shriek gnaws up his throat as he sees a glassy eyed dead boy. He looks Hispanic with elvish ears and curly hair that's now limp with blood.

There's a large bullet hole on his chest, dampening his overalls and dirty clothes. But what Malcolm finds most threatening is the large X on his face. It's a cerise gore that overlays his cold and empty skin, and the 'paintbrush' that was used is course, clumsily made.

But he can see it.

And the shrill shriek escapes his throat as it magnifies in his ears. Thankfully, it's barely audible with the other shrieks and screams and gunshots but he hears — hears — someone running in the bathroom.

Oh my Gods, he thinks. This is it. He's going to die — without discovering the cause of gravity. The door slams shut loudly and he feels suffocated and he's choking from the air and the scent of carnage that clings to it.

Surrendering, he admits, doesn't sound pleasant. But waiting, like a sheep to slaughter, doesn't sound much better. His clock to death starts counting mentally in his head until he hears a familiar voice, both melodic and charming, always luring him into an unwilling trap.

"Who's there?" they hiss. "Get. Out. And hands in the air while you're at it, sweetheart."

He exhales and opens the door with automatic instinct, less strained as he becomes face-to-face with the most popular girl in his grade, Piper McLean. Malcolm remembers clearly (and pathetically) when he met her his first day. She was showing him around after school, talking to him in interest about Greek fashion and Greek Mythology — which she had a large knowledge of, surprisingly — but she is the daughter of a famous actor.

He doesn't care, anyways, how much out of his limit she is. He doesn't take pride or appreciate people who are glorified no matter how good they are but rather those who can destroy her.

But that doesn't stop him drinking in her look. She's tall with a frightening mask that she's wearing at the moment, but her hair is still there, in clumsy, uneven feathered braids with dark, mahogany skin that clashes with the slits on her arms.

"P…Piper ?" he croaks.

She doesn't blink. He finds it ironic how people tells her to kill herself, but now she's killing them. It's disturbing, the whole idea and he wishes to get rid of it. But it's a sour taste, lingering.

"Malcolm? Great. Great," she sarcastically mumbles, noticing his look. The body that's currently slapping the stall with blood washing and staining down it grabs their attention and he swallows. "Don't mind me, just stealing designer clothing so I don't have to waste my money on this shit."

She says it with satire.

"But…you're…in the Purge?"

"Purging," she corrects him, the dagger dragging on the tiles as she crouches down in a defensive pose. "Too 'cleanse my soul.'" She raises one hand with quota.

"But—"

"Is there a problem?" she hisses. "You're new, Malcolm. You know shit. So realize that I have a heart"—her voice is shrill—"and I'm sick of people trying to control me! I hate them and this is my time so step back 'cause I'll shoot you."

A plan forming in his mind, he straightens his posture, "I don't care. Shoot me, then. Go on." He tries to act defiant and bold, but the mask she's wearing prevents that; it's covered with grime, formerly white with a sort of doll like theme.

"Shut the fuck up, Chase. You're important, I can't shoot you so you're going to follow me and do everything I tell you, understand? And once the Purge is over, I swear you're not going to tell a soul and you better move back to Greece because I'll rip you apart so fast and painfully it'll make Carnage! Charisse look like a baby's wet dream."

"U-understood." His face turns sheet white, confused to how she was this violent and threatening. Carnage Charisse though, however, was one of the bloodiest moments in history — almost a legend. A mental patient that had PTSD, bi-polar disorder, and extreme anger issues she inherited from her father, escaped into the Purge after she lured a care-taker to her room, murdering him right after the sirens and taking his keys.

The few hours she spent after was bringing the whole mental hospital on extreme lockdown. The gates were closed and everyone was trapped inside with the most severe and most mental of patients of Othyrs Hospital.

People from school said they could hear the screams from miles away. Clarisse took every single nurse and tricked them to her room, particularly the boys. After which, she spent hours raping them and beheading them to puppets, performing gory and disgusting acts that brought him wriggling at the thought.

The whole thing is so disturbing and gory he could barely believe it was true, dismissing it as a legend and a folktale for new and naive students.

As if she noticed the terrified look on his face, Piper purses her lips tightly, a glint of regret in her eyes. "Come on," she demands, taking out a knife from her belt, handing it to him. It is grimy and covered in dried blood that he tries to replace with dirt in his thoughts.

Avoiding her look, he takes it, gripping it tightly with sweaty fingers as he swallows. As if she isn't finished, Piper brings her hand up the dead boy's chest and coating her hand with the gore, she wiped Malcolm's hair with it and coating his face.

Shuddering with disgust, he recoils, "Did you have to do that? I feel like I belong in a Stephen King's villain nightmare now."

"Good." She nods appreciatively. "Not Louis Vuitton, but it works." Ironic, since she hates fashion — but perhaps, he thinks, its her sisters who obsess over the latest designs.

Scrunching up his eyes with confusion, he instead questions, "Where are you gonna take me?"

"Well, Malcolm," she starts, "this is America and this is tradition. We cleanse our souls and thank the Lord for allowing us to commence in the Purge." Her tone is full of satire and irony, considering his face is washed with blood.

Suddenly nauseous, he runs over to the sink and threw up, the bile escaping his throat as he couldn't contain his sickness. The blood was coating and staining his skin, sticking to it repulsively, he can't help but note.

"You look scared — act more bold and shit; otherwise, you'd think of you as a target," she informs him and he tries to think of how the Joker would act and pretend, pretend, he thinks to himself, that he's enjoying this and all the blood like he has some sort of fetish.

A grisly grin widens on his face and from hysteria, a maniacal laugh bubbles up his throat. She nods appreciatively and opens the bathroom door, the dagger dragging along the tiles behind her.

Outside is chaos. Complete and utter chaos, a sort of destruction that manifests itself on magical merriment. The tiles of the mall flooring are a mess, covered with racks and blood that cling to the air. Close by, he spots a man assaulting an employee against a wall and her shrieks fill his ears as he focuses on them, a deer in headlights and a beast overpowering.

Piper 's face is impassive but he senses danger beneath her as she tightens her grip on the dagger. Blood gushes out like a waterfall to clothes, staining them as several rip the clothes apart, throwing them in the air.

In a matter of perhaps minutes, it's chaos.

His eyes flash back to the girl almost beneath the man who's gripping her hips tightly smugly. Anger, a desperate kind that brings a plan to his mind, rushes in Malcolm's veins as he whispers to Piper, "Who's he?"

She scoffs, "The rapist? What are you planning?"

"Well, there's lots of girls and people here, right? And they're both in front of the racks, so here's my thing. If you push it down in front of him, I guarantee you that she would run off while he's trying to get the rack off him but he's be stuck so…"

Malcolm trails off when he sees the girl leaning towards the man until she finally kicks him between the legs, distracted at the moment, he doesn't notice Piper running off and pushing the rack so it hits him and he falls to the ground, his body going limp.

But there's a loud gunshot that erupts in the air, and blood gurgles loudly, gushing out of the man's head as Malcolm stumbles back. Piper scoffs again and rolls her eyes, "Malcolm, as pure and nice as you are, I have to purge…continue Purging, y'know?" there's resentment in her eyes as the formerly assaulted girl grips the gun in her hand, taking cautious steps back from the bleeding corpse. "I…just can't…"

She runs off, bringing her dagger up with a bared expression on her face.

"Thanks," someone says from behind him, and with a shock he feels freezing metal at the back of his neck. It forms a sort of circle and with a jolt he realizes it's a gun. They're pressing a gun at his neck, he realizes.

"No…problem," he chokes out, his voice barely audible from the chaos as he wonders how far he'll manage to run off without dying. "Why are you going to kill me, though? Bit illegal, I think, killing the person who saved your life."

"And that's where you're wrong, cutie." Her voice is sweet and honey-like, almost putting him in a trance. "Because this the Purge and nothing's illegal right now, so tell me your name, state your business, and be quick because people could be killing you oh so soon."