Taeki Mizoru, huh? That emo-kid. Seriously, who goes to a restaurant and stabs the first person they see?
The more I looked around, the more shitty everything seemed. There were dead bodies and a ton of people wearing this black and red mask. Strange, huh?
I came across a warehouse where they were passing out those masks. They gave me one as well as a book, but I couldn't read it, so I threw both on the ground. However, they gave me two grenades and a knife. Now those'll come in handy.
I asked one of the masked people if they knew this Taeki guy and they said that he was their leader. They gave me a map and pointed out where he lived.
Finally, someone who I could understand.
I followed the map and came to an apartment and lifted myself up the stairs to the third floor. The door was unlocked so I went in.
Pink. Pink everywhere. Pink, the color of blood, so vibrant in nature. All these people were killed in elegant ways. Just splattered around, like a little girl's playroom.
Bodies lined on the ground, the roof, the walls. They were everywhere. I must have been this fucker's first try. Looks like he improved.
That Taeki guy walked into the room and quickly jumped behind a wall as soon as he saw me.
"C'mon. I'm waiting."
He yelled something back that I couldn't understand. He peeked into this room and noticed that I appeared to be unarmed.
Slinky bastard. He looked exactly the same. He just drooled more. I may not have a gun, but I got two grenades who would mind a divorce.
He didn't have a gun either; evident by how the bodies were killed. All stab wounds.
"I kill you." He spoke in broken English.
"Same."
He shook his head.
"I killed you."
Ah, so that's what it was.
"I kill you ag—"
Pluck off the pin, hear the twang of metal, throw like a baseball and…Run!
I jumped out the front door, slammed it shut and hid behind the wall. I never knew that killing someone would be this fun. No. It's just that this guy's a dick.
I walked back in to check on him. He was in the kitchen. Damn fucker was still alive. He took out that knife of his.
He does realize that I have two of these.
I pulled the pin and threw it right at his face. I ran. It blew up and when the smoke cleared, he had tried to run away but it injured him severely.
As I stepped carefully towards him, he began to whimper.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm…"
He kept repeating that mantra. The moment one looks at someone in such a miserable state like that. Their legs shredded, shrapnel in their torso, one may question why they're doing what their realization of horror is what makes things like guilt and despair come into thought.
But for me, it didn't happen. I didn't feel anything. I, a college student, didn't feel remorse or pity. It was apathy.
Absolutely nothing. The adrenaline was just that. A chemical. If this man got treatment, he would live. Then why did I just stand there? Would I have done this before this tragedy? Was it the operation?
No. I've always felt this way. We've always felt this way. They feign fear but really, revenge is best served cold. Revenge is sweet and has a good flavor.
Then why'd I drag this man to the hospital? Did I think he'd get the same treatment as me? Why did I help him if I felt nothing?
Maybe that little flutter of life told me to have hope.